


Death becomes them.

by Ayzlynn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, My First Fanfic, Non canon scenes, Not Canon Compliant, Some Names may change but Characters remain same, Warning: Catelyn Lovers will not like.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayzlynn/pseuds/Ayzlynn
Summary: Daenery's life is about to change just after it ends.  Death is missing and Life needs an Angel of Death to do his Duty. Daenerys has just got the job.Jon Snow has been cursed to die since before he was born, but Death's Angel has a soft spot for him and dying never seems to stick.Maybe they are a little too close.  What will the Angel of Death do when she just can't watch him die one more time?





	1. Death is not Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from emmahlee  
> Dany is Death and Jon keeps dying.
> 
> Bit out of GOT Universe but tried to tie it in to story so far.  
> Not sure how good I will be on updates, Trying to write a novel in my spare time but this prompt caught me.
> 
> Sorry 'real life' has taken my writing time, this is NOT finished. Many more chapters to go, just may take a while to get here.

 

     She had feared this day would come. Everything went dark as her eyes closed for the last time and death overtook her. She had thought it would be cold, but it was not, it was warm. Maybe she was headed to Hell. What could be worse than her life? But it was warm, lovely and warm not hot, warm.

     “Hail Daenerys, welcome.” A feminine voice said, a voice so comforting she soothed immediately and her fear and the memory of her violent death disappeared. Daenerys opened her eyes and was amazed. She could believe this was Heaven, it was beautiful, bright and teeming with life. The grass and the leaves of the trees were so vivid a green it almost hurt to gaze upon them. The sun shone bright and warm, bathing all in its golden glow. There were flowers of many brilliant colours as far as the eye could see. There seemed to almost be a music to the air and the birds and beasts as they lived their peaceful lives.

     “Daenerys.” The voice again. Daenerys tried to focus on the voice to see who had spoken to her, but the paradise around her and the sense of peace it gave was distracting. Still she tried to re-direct her attention to the source of the voice. “Daenerys.”

     “Sorry, it is just so beautiful here.” She felt a tear come to her eye and roll down her cheek.

     “As I like it.” She heard the smile in the voice. “As he likes it. As we like it.”

     “Why can’t I see you?”

     “Your eyes are still covered by the veil of your death. I am sorry it was so violent, I would not have wished for it for you. He would not have wished it for you either, but your life was such pain and horror that we needed to take it away from you.” The voice sounded regretful. “It should never have gone on for so long.”

     “Who are you? Are you an angel?” She heard a warm light laugh.

     “No. Blink Daenerys and you shall see me.” Daenerys blinked her eyes quickly so she may see who was speaking so kindly to her. When she finally cleared the mist from her vision she saw a woman older than her but still youthful of indeterminate age. She was dressed in draped flowing silks of multiple colours, all soft and soothing. Her face was perfection in Daenerys’ opinion and her eyes were a myriad of shifting colours and not all those colours were human, they were framed by long dark and thick lashes. The hair that flowed thick from her head started a dark chocolate colour then lightened to a gold and eventually to a silvery white.

     “Oh my god.” Daenerys breathed in awe.

     “More your goddess.” A smile creased her eyes. “I go by many names. Mother, Lady, Life. And I have an offer for you Daenerys.”

     “An offer?” Daenerys was confused what could she possible do or give this woman, this goddess?

     “Yes. You have suffered greatly in your life and I wish to give the opportunity to ease the suffering of others.”

     “You want to make me an angel?” Daenerys did not think that was the way it worked.

     “Well yes.”

     “A guardian angel?”

     “No. I wish to make you the Angel of Death.” Daenerys physically moved back at that. She did not wish to be Death, she had only wished to give people comfort in life not harm them. “You misinterpret what your duties will be. True you take life but you can also occasionally give it. A life for a life. Take one and give one.”

     “Is that really the kind of power you wish to give me? A no one.” Daenerys did not understand why ‘Life’ was giving her this incredible power.

     “No. The burden is high but my beloved Death has left me in the lurch. He has disappeared and he always had a soft spot for you, so I thought you could do his watch while he is missing and when he returns he will reward you.”

     “Death is your husband?” Life smiled at Daenerys’ question and innocence. “Death is missing?”

     “Husband, wife. These are not concepts that apply to Life and Death but you may look at it simply as that. As to him being missing… Well his burden is heavy as you will see if you take this offer, and sometimes he must wear another face.”

     “Another face?”

     “Yes child, Death has many faces and many names. When he returns as he always does, so shall you see. Now will you take the duty for a short while? It is never more than a human lifetime.”

     “I don’t know.” Daenerys was unsure she could do this Duty, be Death’s Angel.

     “Have you heard of people’s near-death experiences?” The girl nodded, overwhelmed by all this, it seemed like only moments ago she was wishing for Death as she was being beaten, now she had the opportunity to be Death. “You will decide if they are near death or death. You will learn to guide the dying in the direction to the next experience or back to their life. It is not a case of you chasing people to kill them. There is no chasing, no one can escape Death, or his Angel. Truth is the world simply orchestrates the death after you decide it is to be. You will not go into this task blind. The Guide will help you as he helps the people through their lives and deaths.”

     “The Guide?”

     “He is a sweet one, but he can be cold, for he has no love for the people. He guides but he makes no decisions for he loves Death and has no love of me, he tolerates me for the connection Death has with me. Do not be fooled by his appearance for he is eons old and wiser than even I can imagine.”

     Daenerys stood frozen. She did not know what she should do. She could help people and punish bad guys like the man that killed her, she could do much good or much evil. She wondered if it was a test to see if she really deserved to go to Heaven.

     “I need an answer Daenerys I have little time and if your answer is no, I must find another.”

     “Yes.” She did not know for sure why she had blurted out that answer but she could not form the word no.

     “Good. The Guide will come to you. From now on your name will no longer be Daenerys for it was your corpse name, you shall be called Anastasia. For you are resurrected. Go rest your death was harsh and you need some peace.”

     Daenerys saw the garden paradise disappear to be replaced by a room with soft furnishings and soft silken drapes around a huge comfy looking bed. The bed called to her, its white blankets and pillows sang peace to her and rest, and she fell into the bed and sleep.


	2. The Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys/ Anastasia meets The Guide and starts to learn of Death and her Duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Jon this Chapter or probably for a few chapters.  
> Want to set Dany up as her duty before I bring his and his dying into it.

* * *

Daenerys’ eyes, no her name was Anastasia now. Anastasia’s eyes flickered open and she felt as if she had slept a century and was now fully rested, from what she could barely remember and she barely cared for she felt alive and full of energy. She looked down at herself. She was dressed in a light flowing white gown and her hair shone in the light of this room she was in a silver-white, her skin almost glowed a pale pink. Her hair shone blonde-white in the moonlight, so far beyond platinum it was silver. Was her hair always this colour? She could again barely remember.

“It was.” A young light voice answered her thoughts. “Well not always, but lately it was.” There to the side of the bed stood a little boy, about six years old she would guess and his hair shone golden and his eyes blue – not regular human blue, but eerily. “That is because I am not what you would call human.” Again he spoken on her thoughts.

“Who are you?” She asked confused but not at all afraid.

“The Guide.”

“You are the one to guide souls?” She thought The Guide would be older, possibly elderly but the lady, Life said he was not as to be expected. He was not at all as expected, eons old? He looked sweet, but his voice although young in pitch was ancient in tone and his eyes held no warmth.

“People find children less scary. So I am a child. To be less scary.” He sounded … bored. As if he was tired of the repeat, of whatever repeat this was. His face also showed boredom. He would be a delightful child if he smiled. “We have seen too much to smile like ignorant idiots.”

“It is disturbing for you to speak as if you are reading my thoughts.”

“As _if?_ I _am_ reading your thoughts. What do I care if you are disturbed? I only care about Death.” He sounded annoyed at her now.

“Well, I am to be Death for a while.” She smiled at him trying to gain some favour.

“You are to be his Angel, you are not him.” He said looking her over. “I expected more scars.”

“Why?” That was a strange comment. Did he imagine she was some warrior princess due to being given this position?

“I saw your life.” He stated simply. Then he surveyed her again. “I did not think you were a warrior princess, though once… but she had less scars than I expected from your life.”

“I can not remember it.” She frowned, why couldn’t she?

“This is not a Duty for vengeance. Also your past experience would cloud you and we need you shiny and bright to reflect.” He explained.

“What does Life need me to reflect?”

“Not Life, Death. You need to reflect Death.”

“I thought Death was missing?”

“He is absent, yes. But he never leaves us without his light.”

“Death has a light?” This was nothing like the lessons she had been taught in chapel.

“You have much to learn. Death is a light, he shines with the promise of release and hope and a better existence. He casts the shadows so the light in Life can be seen. It is complicated but you will learn. There is much to learn. Shall we get out of bed and learn the basics?” She nodded and suddenly she was standing and the bed chamber was gone, she stood on a plane of light blue. There was nothing as far as the eye could see. Daenerys, Anastasia – would she get used to that? Anastasia could not tell if the space she was in was infinite or just beyond her fingertips, it was all just a soft comforting blue.

“Where are we?”

“What you might call Heaven.”

“I thought the paradise Life was in was Heaven.”

“Okay it is what Death and I would call Heaven, you can have Life’s boring paradise.” She heard the pouty tone, but wondered why this would be Heaven.

“Why would this be your Heaven?” Maybe she should just ask the child.

“What is wrong with it?” Now he looked pouty as well as sounding it and she thought him adorable.

“Just not the typical and I did not say it was wrong, I only asked why it was.” She was curious, felt somehow she knew she always had been, even if she could not remember.

“Because it is quiet, serene and peaceful. No distractions or emotions. It is still. Silent. During your Duty you may find it grows on you, to have a place where none can touch you.” He looked out into the blue void, a distance in his eyes. “Enjoy the peace while you can for soon you will be the Angel of Death and it will be rare.”

“What is Death the entity like? I should know if I am to be his stand-in, or working for him.”

“Perfect.” That stopped her, she expected more. “Alright in the spirit of trying to work together. Death in usually kind, his methods can’t always be and sometimes he can seem cruel but he isn’t, so neither can you be. You are nice and kind now but the burden of this will drain on you. That is why he must be absent sometimes, to process the agony being him can cause. You will understand soon enough. Do not worry you are strong enough for the task.”

“Why did Life choose me?”

“Death chose you, not Life. She is basically a jumped up cheerleader, don’t question the reference as I just hate peppy cheerleaders and do not see their purpose. Life is just a gift from Death and then he takes it and you away giving you another.”

“Another life?” Was in all a reincarnation circle?

“Another gift, maybe it is another life, maybe a sweet Heaven to exist in, maybe something else. It is not our place to know.”

“Shouldn’t I, as I am doing his Duty?”

“Shall we begin your training then?” He smiled, and it was joyous, and she thought maybe this dour little child could be interesting to learn from.


	3. How to be an Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guide and our Angel talk.  
> Anastasia learns the tricks and skills of the Duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Also for how long this chapter is, it is very involved.  
> Let me know if it is too long and I have to cut it for you guys.

     It was dark, pitch black in truth. Like The Blue she was unsure of the actual size of the space she was currently in. The Guide said she would be spending a great deal of time in this space, as this was what people called ‘The Tunnel’ in their near-Death experiences. This was the place people entered into Death’s Embrace and where they either travelled back from or on from.

     “That is why you are so pale and shiny. The Light at the end of The Tunnel.” He said matter-of-factly.

     “I am the Light?” She thought that he said something else yesterday. Was it yesterday? Was it today? Time and space was so strange here.

     “No Death is the Light. You are just reflecting him. Remember?” He thought by her face she did but she was new to this and it may turn out to be too much for her mortal brain.

     “But he is missing.” Yes, she definitely remembered that, then she felt cold as she recalled that truth. Why was she cold at the thought of Death being missing?

     “We will see.” It seemed to her The Guide did not believe that, as if he had some inside information. Did The Guide know where Death was?

     “Is Death cold? I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

     “Death… the event can be. Death the entity also can be usually he disappears to ‘wear a different face’ when he feels too cold. Personally I always found him warm and comforting. I love him.” For the first time in her acquaintance with him he sounded warm and happy, even his eyes glowed with joy.

     “I can see you have a great affection for him. So what is Death exactly? Who is he? There are so many theories and myths about him.”

     “Azrael, the Angel of Death; the Angel of Destruction and Renewal; Help from God; One whom God Helps. Death, the Angel of Dark and Light. Abaddon, The Destroyer; or Angel of The Abyss; sometimes the Archangel Michael. Yes, you mortals do have a great many names and myths in regards to him.”

     “Which are right?”

     “All of them and none of them. Death is complicated but simple.” He looked at her aggravated expression. “Which I see is not very helpful to you. Death is different for every person, his relationship with each soul is different. You need only know every world sees him differently and he doesn’t care if they love him or hate him for he is and will always be.”

     “I Am.” She whispered low.

     “Yes, well that is an aspect too in this world or that. He is the Many-Named, the Many-Faced God. The cool breeze to those burning and the warm flame to those left in the cold. The comforting arms and voice you need. He is just perfect as I said. We are not here to really discuss Death as you are not and cannot be him. We are here to teach you to be his angel in his absence.”

     “A Light at the End of the Tunnel.”

     “Yes, it is a metaphor. Or it isn’t. Sorry if I sound contrary but it is such an amorphous concept and reality. They see you all shiny and perfect, radiating Death’s Light and think you are a light, and an end to the dark tunnel. But the tunnel in itself is a lie, but whatever they need to believe Death accommodates. You need not know what occurs at the other end so to speak. The souls will go or stay as you command and if they pass by you they will be ‘processed’ as they should.”

     “If Death is missing how are they being ‘processed’?” The Guide giggled as she did the air quotes with her fingers. “What is funny?”

     “You are so mortal. You are adorable. I understand why he picks you.”

     “Picked me, not picks.” She corrected him, she saw his face scrunch in offense at her correcting him.

     “Which of us is the God here?” He snapped sulkily.

     “I don’t know. Death is an Angel or a God, Life is a Goddess or a cheerleader and you are a cranky little boy or a Guide to the Universe. Me, I am normal.”

     “You are not normal, you are a dead girl who is going to be Death’s Angel.”

     “But I pack one existence away before taking up the next, you are all multi-entities. Making me normal and you strange.” 

“Being one thing is strange, being many things is normal.”

     “Okay if you are many things, what name can I call you other than The Guide, it is bulky and cumbersome and so impersonal. Stale and dead.”

     “Not really.” He frowned.

     “Do you call Life, Life or Mother or any of her other titles all the time?”

     “No I usually call her ‘Woman’, because she annoys me.” He said with a straight face and then a small grimace. Anastasia laughed loudly at his reply.

     “There are worlds you would be hung and skinned for the insult of being such a chauvinist.”

     “What insult? She is a woman.”

     “But that is not an insult to be levelled at a…”

     “Woman? I did not say it was an insult.”

     “But you make it sound like a …”

     “Curse? Well I do feel she is a curse on my existence when I say it. Anyway her husband calls her that and she usually giggles and runs away. Then she makes sounds that sound as if he is whipping her, she screams a lot but never has bruises or anything and is always nicer after.” His voice betrayed no inclination of knowing of what he spoke, and he eyed Anastasia curiously when she started to blush. “Why has all your blood gone to your cheeks?”

     “So Life has no problems with Death calling her ‘woman’?”

     “Death never calls her ‘woman’, he is too respectful. Also he would never betray …” The boy looked at the young woman. “Why is it a curse to be called ‘woman’? Is it not a blessing, an honorific and a worship? Death has always told me ‘man’, ‘woman’, ‘husband’, ‘wife’, ‘father’, ‘mother’, ‘child’, ‘son’, ‘daughter’ and beloved are all words of worship and love.” Oh the boy was sweet as Life said he was, it seems he learnt it from Death.

     “Hah, Death is sweet.” She laughed at the epiphany. “Wait you said when you are annoyed by her you call her ‘woman’.”

     “Yes, But I always… don’t tell her but I do love her, just not as much as Death and Battle.”

     “Battle? You like fighting?”

     “No Battle is Life’s husband, as you would call it.”

     “I thought Death was Life’s husband.” Life had agreed with her when she asked. Anastasia heard his little laugh again.

     “No. Life is a battle, and Battle is life. So they are wed and they truly are inspiring as love goes. Death’s wife… well she is very different, she is purpose and love, but she does not use these as titles, she does not use titles for herself at all, so she is just _Beloved_ , for he does love her.”

     “Where is she?”

     “Where she needs to be.”

     “None of my business, I understand.” She felt embarrassed for some unknown reason, as if she was asking for intimate information about someone she would never meet because once Death returned she would cease to be, well she would just be dead and go on from here to wherever the dead went. She guessed that would be part of her training. “We should probably get to my training, as there is no one to ‘process’ people.” Again she did the air quotes and he laughed.

     “Xan.”

     “Sorry?” Did he speak another language? Was she to learn it? Was it angel speak – tongues as the Evangelists called it.

     “My name. So you don’t get ‘bogged down’ by The Guide title.” He even used his own air quotes. “It is what my brother calls me.”

     “What a lovely little name.”

     “Thank you. I think all your names are lovely too.”

     “Two. Two is not a lot of all.”

 

* * *

 

     “Oh, there are far more than two. So, lesson one. Seeking and Seeing: the viewing of life.” He grinned. “It is like watching a giant television or multiple televisions all at once.”

     “I do not know if I have the focus.”

     “You will gain it.” He focused himself. “Now you need to free your thoughts and empty your mind. Let the visions come to you. You could centre yourself by breathing deep, it will also help with the visions you see, some can be … horrific or stressful. Remember you will see as people approach their deaths. It is rarely pretty. So Anastasia take a deep breath and let the Universe show you.” 

“How do I know what to seek?” 

“I will guide you and you will get a feel for it, but I will always be around to guide you to targets as I guide the souls.”

     “Targets? Life said I do not chase people.” She blurted out quickly, she was suddenly nervous. Life had been a little less honest than Anastasia had expected, had she tricked Anastasia with this too?

     “Target is a general word, you do not target, or maybe you will, I don’t know how you will run your service. How about we just focus on the Seeking?” She saw that he had noted her apprehension and was trying to calm her anxiety so nodded vigorously to change the thoughts rushing through her mind. “First we need you to centre yourself and be calm. Sometimes it is easiest if you focus on something you find calming, what relaxes you?”

     “I can’t remember. Maybe I need to be allowed a memory of my life to find something.”

     “Oh no, that will not calm you at all. Violence does not help here.”

     “Violence? Was my life violent? That is why you said you thought I’d have more scars.” She was getting more agitated, she would never be able to be at peace to do this. The Guide watched Anastasia with concern, she was too scattered, she needed something to pull her out of her dive - usually this happened after seeing other’s lives, tortured lives. Anastasia did not remember her life for a reason, it was violent and it was tortured and it lasted longer than it should have. Death had wished her to escape it but had not wished to take her life from her, only to escape the pain. In the end he had closed his eyes and let her come home, but the nature of her death had been the last straw, he had left to gain peace because he had contemplated vengeance. The Guide however had a few tricks up his sleeve, was willing to break the rules Death so vehemently adhered to.

     She felt like she was spinning into an Abyss. She had no anchor. She felt hollow, with no past and a fear of the past she could not remember, and now a terror of the future she could not see. Then is appeared, a face behind an ice sheet, it was handsome and pure. It must be a pre-teen boy but at the moment she felt like a young girl. The ice melted away and the boy opened his eyes, they were a molten blue, unhuman but eerily beautiful and he smiled down as his eyes focused on her.

     She could see them a thousand different visions of people going about their lives, some had no idea what was about to happen, some had been preparing for years; some were frantic , others calm and ready. They all rushed past her, towards and away from her.

     Then she felt a pulling, towards a particular vision, a little girl wandering towards the ocean. Honey haired and all of two years old, the tiny girl was stumbling along, giggling as the waves washed over her feet. She wore a little red dress and had her wisps of curls tied by a ribbon to match her dress. She chased the waves back into the ocean with peals of laughter. Anastasia cringed as she realised what was to happen, the little one was only a babe. An incoming wave knocked the little girl over and she fell into the sand, then it washed over her and covered her in water. When again the ocean receded the toddler tried to get up in the wet sand but did not have the ability, and tumbled from what little purchase she had gained when another wave pushed forward over her. Anastasia watched as the events repeated until the little girl no longer rose and the ocean had covered her. Time and the ocean consumed the girl, stealing her for a time. There floating in the water where the cherub had been was a red bow that had once held honey curls.

     The child did not appear distressed or frightened, she merely smiled around in the pitch of the space that she found herself in. Anastasia saw the vision of her parents running to the shore seeking their child, seemingly calling desperately. The child however stood calmly beside her and after a minute or so reached up to place its little hand in hers with a smile.

     “Sweetie, your mummy and daddy are very worried about you.” She crouched to speak to the child as she smiled large at the angel.

     “If they were worried they should have watched her to stop this.” Xan said taking the little girl’s free hand, which turned her attention to him. She let go of Anastasia’s hand to follow Xan.

     “It was an interesting example but can we not send her back?” Anastasia called to The Guide.

     “For them to neglect her again? She will just die again. We do not play with people’s lives, there are no examples.” He smiled warmly at the child and walked away to guide her on. “Practise this lesson Anastasia. When you can control the Seeing you will be able to project the images so they are not in your head but on the wall.”

     “Like a television.” She was not sure she had the ability to watch children die or to take their lives. She knew it was her Duty but her first death although it did not feel horrific, being a child it felt depressing.

     “What of the Seeking part?” She called before he disappeared.

     “Think a name or a feeling. Usually fear or terror. Follow it. Seek and you will find.” He said over his shoulder as he led the little girl away chatting to her in muted tones.

 

* * *

 

 

      How long she had been practising her first lesson she was unsure, she watched many souls pass her as she watched them die, was drawn to some, terrified by some and soothed by others. Still she had no power when it came to these deaths and it was disquieting that it was totally silent. She felt deaf. Deaf to people, deaf to herself, deaf to the world. Deaf.

     “You are doing well. So now you wish to hear.” The Guide had returned from his last… Guidance.

     “Why can I not hear?”

     “You had to learn to see first, now you can start lesson two, Listen and Discern.”

     “Okay I am ready.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

     “No, you are not.” He stated with little emotion, she was starting to get used to his way of speaking but found it scary sometimes how he spoke of her inability to do this Duty but also seemed to have confidence that she could. “I do not think you incompetent. I just know this burden is heavy and never as simple as it sounds. Let me take us back a step to explain. Seeking and Seeing, it is not just used to seek the dying, you can think of a name and you will seek them. You can watch a life as if it were …”

     “A television program?”

     “Yes, or a movie. But not take that life. Use it as a distraction; that is how Death found you. Now you can watch multiple things you can watch one that has nothing to do with someone dying. It will eventually become natural and automatic to seek and see. As will all the other lessons.”

     “Well listening seems pretty simple.”

     “It is not - that is why you have been deaf - it is as distracting and overwhelming as seeing. A million voices all speaking at once in many languages and all while you are also watching a million lives. Prayers for Life and prayers for Death. Again it is overwhelming and it is draining. That is why you needed to get a strong grasp on the skills of lesson one before you could add this.”

     “I will hear prayers?”

     “Angel remember. And yes, most prayers for Life are prayers against Death so they are really prayers to ask Death to look away. Some prayers are selfish and may have you wish to take the petitioner’s life as they prayer for another’s death. We can not do that.”

     “Why?” She understood why, ‘this Duty is not vengeance’.

     “Death said it wasn’t nice to kill people. So I don’t, he said life is worth something. Even scumbag life. Really life is just souls wrapped in flesh, you are all worms under my boot but Death said no.” Yeah, The Guide had proved many times to Anastasia that he truly did have little love of Life – but he did love her a tiny bit. Anastasia would say thankfully or no soul would ever survive as he guided them to a quick death.

     “Listening.” She felt she had been leaving this duty unattended with how long she had been learning it. Life had said one lifetime, hadn’t she already done that? Wait, a human lifetime? She hadn’t asked.

     “I will allow a few through so you can get a feel for how it goes.” With that Xan gazed at her until she nodded she was prepared to start.

     It started as whispers barely able to be heard, jumbled as they rushed over each other. A thousand people talking at once, all at differing tones and pitches, varying volumes and emphasise. She could not pull one person away from another as they seemed hooked onto each other and she could not find all the barbs that snared them. She became desperate as she felt she was tangling them more.

     “Relax and breathe again. You need not rip them apart, simply touch one and lift it free.” He made it sound so easy, surely it wasn’t so easy.

     She took a breath and touched her mind on one of the voices expecting it to wrestle with her to stay tangled but it did indeed simply lifted itself free of the other voices and hovered alone for her to concentrate on.

     _Let this save my family._

     “Discerning is a little more involved, and yet simpler. Discerning is the ability to tell whether their words and actions are true. Whether this is right or wrong, true or false, should or should not be. Well not really that concrete to be honest but it will help you to skim over the sights and sounds of those orbiting a death. Allows you to discern what is our paradigm and what isn’t. For example you don’t want to be pulled toward every actor declaring they will kill someone. You do need to listen to the serial killer who thinks that constantly. Do you need more instruction?”

     “Perhaps you could slowly increase the numbers until I am able to deal with the full load, it was hard seeing all the visions rushing at me all at once.” She hoped he would ease her into it.

     “Sure, it will be harder having to do both but the skill of projecting the vision outside your head can also be used here. The voices need not all be in your head and soon you will learn to categorise all these senses.” He walked away to do his own duties while she accustomised herself to the new skill. It was going well in his opinion, she was catching on fast and would be ready for service quickly.

     Anastasia sought out a peaceful death, an old man surrounded by loved ones and she watched and now listened, and found she was more content with her skills with this new facet. She did not really think of it was watching television but it was an easy way to describe it. Then she stopped as she realised she had chosen what to see, was not pulled to a death but had drawn it to her instead, she had never been able to do that before. She was evolving.

     Anastasia was learning quickly that people talk a lot of unimportant bull, they prattled to hear their own voice as if the more words they used the more important they were. She had a vague sense that during her life she had been confused by James Bond movies – because they annoyed the Hell out of her now. How the Nemesis would detail his plan before killing ‘007’, she thought it stupid and a waste of time, just kill him! Problem was it was not make believe, there were actually people who did that, had a monologue about how they were going to kill someone. Waste of the victims time because it either gave enough time for them to escape or prolonged their death - sometimes making them wish for it to be sooner just so their murderer would stop talking.

     Anastasia watched as a man detailed to his terrified wife all the evils she had done to him and how she deserved this, how she was a bane on his life. Blah, Blah, Blah.

     _Just finish it, I cannot bear you another minute._ The woman’s voice came to her clearly, the terror gone. The wishing for release giving the woman the strength of peace to finally be rid of this monster she married even if it was by dying.

     Anastasia could only think ‘007’ would have stabbed himself in the eye after all the times he was in this situation. She was pretty sure if the wife could unbind her hands and pull the knife her husband was threatening her with into her heart she would right now.

 

* * *

 

   

     “I believe that means you are ready for lesson four, The Speaking of Fate.” Xan was suddenly there, as always suddenly there.

     “Do I look ready?”

     “You look bored.” Xan replied. “Mortals do get that way after you watch them enough. Boring.”

     “Life is not boring.”

     “Maybe to Battle but to me she is B-O-R-I-N-G!” Anastasia had to smile at his dramatics, he rarely did them but she had noticed he was becoming more relaxed with her. “We will use this example.” He said looking at the scene she had been watching. “Speaking of Fate is the skill used to end a life. What people mean when they say the Grim Reaper targeted someone. It is a little more complicated than simply reaping a soul.”

     “Also simpler.” Anastasia said, employing every effort not to smirk at him and his ways of saying everything was complicated and simple.

     “I am impressed. You are learning.” He had not understood the jest she had made of him and continued. “I am proud of you.” He smiled at her.

     “So Speaking of Fate.” She was rarely impatient but this man was strumming her last nerve right now.

      “You have the power to decide that the time has come. So you speak the person’s Fate. For example: He finally ends her suffering. Then he will kill her. Seems harsh and terrible but we can not get emotionally involved in all these people and their unimportant lives. Unimportant to our existence, not over all.” He had learnt Anastasia was like Death and Life, she actually cared about these strangers and their meagre existences. So he accounted for it in his examples, he did not wish to upset her. He looked at her expectantly. As she stared confounded, he pushed his hand out in front of him to tell her to go.

     “I have to say it?” She thought he was teaching her.

     “Or think it. However yes, it must be you. I can only guide people, I have no power over their Fate. Only Death or his Angel can speak of one’s Fate.” He sighed. “It is why prophecy is so finicky. Let the Universe hear you Anastasia, Angel of Death. Speak with confidence and purpose.”

     “May her suffering finally end.” Though she wished to end the woman’s suffering, she had not really wanted the man to have the satisfaction.

     They watched as the man continued to explain in too much detail how this was her fault, he failed his arms wildly and kicked out at the air in his frustration. He kicked too wildly with no regards to where he was and caught the leg of the chair he had tied his suffering wife to and the chair wobbled and the leg collapsed, as it buckled the chair and the woman bound to it slid left and her head slammed into the edge of a bench. It was instant and painless and she stood in a black place with light radiating from a point in front of her.

     Anastasia turned to the woman and gave her the warmth of Death’s light to ease her pain, not of her death but of her life. “Welcome Leeanne, your time has come and it is time for your burdens to be lifted and your pain removed.” She had listened to The Guide and his comforting words for ages now she was getting a feel for it. Xan came forward to take her hand, he smiled as Leeanne looked down at him and thought him ‘the most beautiful child’. He led her away to her next destination, but quickly returned.

     “She wouldn’t have seen the scene of her death I had projected would she?”

     “No. They can not see, for they do not have the skill or the power. They can only see the dark and light of the Angel of Death. Never fear anyone seeing what they shouldn’t.”

     “That was the easiest lesson yet.”

     “It is not over. I have a few explanations before we move on. As you see the Universe does not always do as expected when you speak, you may have thought he would stab her fatally, but in the end it was an accident. Mainly because you did not want him to have the satisfaction I think, but the message is The Universe makes it happen, not you.”

     “How it is both simple and complicated because I make it happen by speaking but the universe makes it happen.”

     “Yes, sometimes it is not immediate, sometimes it can take days or weeks or years. A war criminal may be given the fate to die because he tortured people, but does not die until decades later of a terrible cancer, suffering for every torture he ever inflicted.”

     “How do I know?”

     “You will be able to discern that to some degree. However Life and Death are fickle and mysterious, so you will never be definitively sure.”

     “Great.” She whispered under her breath.

 

* * *

  

     “Lesson four is Last Breath. This is when the soul leaves the shroud that is its body. It can be quick or eternal seeming. One of us will always be there for it, it has been me lately but it can be you.”

     “How is it a skill?” Surely it just occurred.

     “In the Last Breath we can do amazing things. Halt time, flashback a person’s entire life or let them see someone far across the world. It all must occur between when they inhale then exhale for the last time.”

     “So you need to teach me how to access such powers.” This Duty was monumental and so full of complexities.

     “Yes, but the rule is you must be there for the last in-breath or you can not do this. Truth is I really only need to teach you to pause time or slow it so you never miss the event.”

     “What happens if I do?”

     “The soul will be stuck in limbo between their last inhale and last exhale forever. “

     “Forever?” She suddenly felt a great pressure on her chest.

     “It is how souls get stuck as Spectres. I hate the word ghost.” The Guide turned to regard the now hyperventilating Anastasia. “Are you alright?”

     “It is just…”

     “Oh the stress.” He frowned and she watched him wave his hand.

 

     She stood in The Blue.

     “Sorry, I should not have stressed you like that.” The space was calming and her breath slowed as did her heartrate. “Take a few moments to find the peace you need.”

     “How? If I fail to successfully orchestrate Last Breath the soul will be forever trapped in limbo. Where is limbo?”

     “It isn’t anywhere. Alright it also isn’t forever really, just until Death returns, he does know how to pull them out of limbo and move from the last inhalation to the last exhalation.”

     “Death can fix my mistakes? Even if I made them a lifetime ago?”

     “Death can fix everything. Also this place can help you to hone your time dilation skills. I’ll bring you a soul to work with.” And he vanished.

     Anastasia looked around The Blue and did feel her stress draining away and thought maybe The Blue could really be Heaven for her too. It was the shade, there was something about the shade. She thought it reminded her of something. It reminded her of a spot on a wall, a stone wall. Where had she seen a stone wall that pulsed with a blue light? Anastasia looked up – if there was an up here – and saw sparkles of gold in the ‘air’ above her. What the … What did that mean?

 

     Time dilation was hard. Very hard. It was like she was wrestling a piece of slime. The Guide giggling at her efforts had not helped. The soul she was practising with was very patient and always encouraged her to try again and assure her it was not offended how she sped it up or slowed it down too much. Xan especially enjoyed the soul sounding like a chipmunk on crack when she made it too fast. Slowly but surely she got a handle on the playing with time.

     There were other skills needed to be learned to master the lesson of Last Breath but the others seemed a breeze to Anastasia after learning time control. Extensions of lessons or skills she had already learnt or seemed to just come naturally to her.

     Life flashing before the eyes of the dying was just an amalgam of her own seeing and time dilation skills with the projection skill. After she got the feel for the rhythm of the sequence of events she was flashing people’s lives before their eyes in short order, and honed the skill to near perfection.

     The Guide said reconciliation was another factor but could be difficult and was not sure if he should teach her this one. As it could be time consuming and spiritually draining for soul and her. In the end she convinced him she could at least try this as she was supposed to be doing Death’s Duty and if it was his Duty… So he gave her an easy one.

     A family of three came through to The Black, the mother and child were confused, but travelled with The Guide through to the other end without event. The father was not as at ease and he was still clinging.

     “Why will you not let go?” Anastasia asked. His eyes were wide and filled with tears and guilt. Over her tenure she learnt the emotions people held. 

“I only closed my eyes a moment.”

     “It only took a moment.” She said gently.

     “It was only a moment.” He sobbed in his guilt.

     “Only a moment.” She agreed gently again.

     “I have killed them.” He was clinging to his guilt, not his life, she could see it now. He could not reconcile that he had caused their deaths.

     “They are deceased yes, but you need only let go.” She knew all he need do is let go of his guilt and his death would take him to the ones he loved and had just lost.

     “I don’t deserve…”

     “Let go.”

     “I don’t deserve…”

     “Accept your peace.”

     “I don’t deserve… peace.” He clung and would not exhale, and Anastasia was forlorn for him, why could he not understand no one wanted to punish him? How did she explain that? How would Death?

    _Timothy, I understand but you can not be punished for this wrong, for to punish you it would punish her and she is innocent of all crimes, she deserves her peace and Heaven and that Heaven requires you. You must be pardoned, forgive yourself, for her, if not for yourself. Make peace with your wrongs so she can have hers. Forgive yourself for her._

     “Maybe you don’t, but your wife and son do and they will not have it so long as you do not let go. Let go, give them peace and the joy of being reunited with you.” The man exhaled slowly as he let his pain and guilt flow away. Anastasia watched as the souls of his wife and son ran with joy to embrace him and he smiled over their heads to thank her.

     “Well done, it is a hard lesson.”

     “I heard someone else do it previously.” Anastasia answered him as she gazed at the family as they went to their peace, needing no guide as they had it wherever they were together. She wondered who Timothy was and why the soothing voice was reassuring him and why that same voice made her wish to sleep. “It didn’t seem so hard.”

     “Sometimes it is worse. Sometimes you need to do greater things. Death has allowed the dying to visit people across space and time to reconcile their lives, it can almost break the Universe. Never do that.”

     “Break the Universe?”

     “Obviously.”

 

* * *

 

 

     “Which brings us neatly to lesson five which is Re-Breath and Rebirth. After the Last Breath the soul comes here and we go through the entire ritual of if they are returned to life which we call re-breath, for they take another breath. Hence the term Re-breath. Or if they are to move on to the next stage, which we call Rebirth.”

     “What if theirs is another course?”

     “It is all called Rebirth because they are born into another existence.”

     “So how do I do it?”

     “I will show you.” Another soul came through, a man in his forties with a shock of white hair that seemed unnatural and great amount of blood on his face. “Hail good sir, I am here to guide you onto the next life.”

     “I don’t want to die.” The man said as if he could change his fate.

     “Should have thought of that before you rode a motorcycle for the first time without a helmet and at that unholy speed.”

     The Guide half turned to Anastasia, shrugging as he raised his hands. The Guide was almost immediately back at her side after walking the speedster out. He was shaking his head. “Some people are so stupid I don’t know how they survive.”

     “Shall we finish the lesson?” Anastasia was still mentally tired by all this knowledge.

     “That was it. You give them to me or I take them.”

     “How do I send them back to life?”

     “Just say ‘goodbye’ or wave at them or ‘Back you go.’ Really the choice of how is up to you. This is not a skill this is a choice. I may suggest sometimes but ultimately this one is totally up to you. Those that cannot be returned will pass you without stopping. If you want send every single soul back that you can or be discerning. You have total freedom.”

     “Total control?”

     “Yes. There are exceptions but they are ultra-rare and I will explain them if they come.”

     “I will try to be fair in this part of my service.” He only shrugged like he didn’t care either way and as she had gotten to slowly know him she thought that would be him.

 

* * *

 

 

     “There is a saying ‘Only Death can pay for Life’, that is over simplified. Or under simplified. Oh I am getting tired of trying to explain it all in a way that mortals would understand.” Xan was starting to sound irritated and impatient.

     “I apologise you must train me but …”

     “It is not you.” He snapped and his brow creased and his eyes narrowed. “This is innate to us, to me. The use of it - the way of it - the reason was all I needed explained. You probably innately know the reason but must learn the way. I wish it was easier to explain. I wish I understood mortals and their ways better.”

     “You have done very well at guiding me Xan.” She smiled at him to reassure him as frustrated as he was he was actually doing very well. “So from what I already know I will see if I can explain how I see that statement. It is said only Death can pay for life and although that is true, it is also wrong because the statement is out of context. Obviously Death can pay for Life as He controls much and gifts much, but all life is not paid for by someone dying. There are circumstances I have seen where by magic a life must be taken to return a life, but that is a specific and not the Rule of the Universe. Life can pay for life, death can pay for life and life can just spontaneously be.” She smiled at him in an almost motherly fashion. Absently she wondered if she had ever been a mother.

     “Anastasia you may be the only woman I ever truly love.” He smiled at her, widely and with a great amount of love in his eyes and she was amazed to see this emotion in him. He also appeared to be very excited by her knowledge and explanation.

      “I hope not. I hope one day you grow up and find someone just for you.”

     “Why do you think I am not grownup?” His little brow furrowed with his question.

     “A large dog would bowl you over.”

     “Not true, I could probably take a large dog. Maybe even a wolf. No probably not a wolf. Think of me like a Honey Badger, small, cute and aggressive.” She burst out laughing as she did indeed think of him as a Honey Badger. When he snapped his teeth together ferociously she fell down. “Well at least I am funny.” He said in a serious little voice that just made it worse for her.

     “So how does Life for a Life work technically?” She said from the ground when she could finally speak.

     “Someone can sacrifice their life so you reap their soul instead of the soul of another ‘marked’ for Death.”

     “Do not air quote Xan, I only just got my composure back.”

     “You do it all the time.”

     “I am a silly mortal, or was.”

     “True.” He said with a sad sigh. “Or to save a life you can choose to take another. You can not do it often but it is allowed rarely. Otherwise you could be replaced with a robot.”

     “How could I be replaced with a robot?”

     “I could invent one that had feelings and a soul.” He said as if he may enact the plan but then frowned. “Then that is how my brother made mortals. So not really. Why does he have to do everything first and better?” He glared at Anastasia and as her facial expression changed, sighed again. “Sorry it is not your fault he already made mortals.”

     “How often can I do this?”

     “Very rarely. But you can do it. Mostly it comes down to sending people forward or back for you but there are always extenuating circumstances and miracles and such in the world. Take a sacrifice and give their chance to another. Take the aggressor to save the victim. Take one early so the other lives.”

     _I would give my life for you_. That voice again. _My life means nothing without you._

     “Does it work?”

     It was a strange question because the obvious answer to The Guide was ‘of course’, after all he just said it was how it could be done. “Yes.” He eyed her sideways. “You just agree and it is a done deal. Like Speaking of Fate. As it is such a rare available opportunity I can not show you this, you must remember when you have seen it before and go on instinct. I am sorry Anastasia, I wish I could help you more but I would not suggest wasting a chance of trading a life for a life on a lesson.”

     “Of course not. So what is the next lesson?”

 

* * *

 

 

     “Your last formal lesson is number seven: The Apparition. What people see if they perceive you or if you wish them to see you.”

     “Would I wish them to perceive me?” She wasn’t sure she would, but then maybe she would. Truth was she was needing a few moments in The Blue right now to centre herself. Why was she suddenly hearing a voice? Whose voice was it?

     “Sometimes you can not stop them from seeing you so you need to decide on a default. Like I have little boy. Sometimes you will wish them to, for their comfort or to make them afraid. Kind of where the Grim Reaper came from. Death was trying to scare someone straight and it stuck. Also where the Guardian Angel image came from. Life was trying to help once and somehow we ended up with Virgin Marys everywhere. Death went to bed with a headache after that.”

     “Death went to bed with a headache?” That snapped Anastasia back to where she was supposed to be focused.

      “He gets headaches too! Where do you think you humans got the idea?”

      “Headaches are not an idea they are an illness.”

     “Now, but they weren’t always.” He nodded his head at her like it was meant to convince her. “Or maybe it was something else. Oh, so much happens and becomes part of the Universe, who knows. I have forgotten more songs then I can remember.”

     Anastasia threw her head back and laughed. It was a beautiful sound and so brightening in the dreary place of The Black. Then The Black wasn’t always dreary. Another of those paradoxes about the way of things. “Well it would make sense you couldn’t remember what you had forgotten.”

     “You know Life has never understood that. She just shakes her head at me and walks away. Then she does that a lot with me. Only Death really ever had a lot of time for me.”

     “Xan are you lonely?” She frowned as she thought about The Guide being lonely as he ferried and guided all the people around. He must find it hard to connect to anything.

     “Sometimes, especially when Death goes away.” He sounded and looked forlorn but then he gazed at her a moment and smiled. “You help my loneliness Anastasia, you make me feel like I have a friend.”

     “You do have a friend, Xan.” She rubbed his head and messed up his little golden curls.

     “I think you should keep this image for your apparition, your default one. You are beautiful and comforting and almost as perfect as Death.”

     “Okay, as you suggest, but I will try to practise others in the event I need them. So how do I change my image?”

     “It is about visualising it in your head and pushing the picture out into the universe. Basically you put a photo in people’s heads.” 

“Sounds simple.” 

“It does, and I find it easy. But it really isn’t as you are pushing things into people’s heads and you need to be sure and steady with it so they believe it. You will need practise. Also you don’t want to damage them, mortals tend to be squishy.”

     “Wait, I can damage them?”

     “Sure, ‘there’s someone at the door’.” He changed his voice to a creepy tone.

     “Sorry, what?”

     “It’s a quote from a television show I watched once.”

     “A person’s life?”

     “No, Anastasia. A real television show. Can’t remember it for the life of me but there was this girl that said it all the time ‘cause her head was broken. That is all I remember about the show. Broken girl told everyone about there being someone at the door. It was creepy and I had a night terror so Death said I wasn’t allowed to watch scary television anymore. You humans are sick in the head sometimes. Anyway you can break people’s minds if you aren’t careful. So be careful.”

     “Thanks for the heads up Xan.”

     “You are welcome.” He beamed a bright smile at her.

 

     The lessons had been long and exhausting and she did not know how long it had been since she had slept, she didn’t even know if she did sleep anymore. Surely she would not have time. Still she felt both physically and mentally exhausted. She longed for rest and wondered if Death ever felt like this. She started to think about the white cotton sheets of the bed she had slept the night she had accepted her Duty. Just a little nap, she thought.

 

     “Any questions?” The Guide stood at her side and took her hand as if he was going to walk her through this work.

     “Guide me on how to decide whether I should take a life or save it, whether I should send someone back or on. Who should I show mercy? I have practised my lessons and although Discerning helps it does not answer my queries.”

     “So it won’t, nothing can. You will gain no help in this vector. A wise being once said ‘in the end it is up to your Gut and your Heart’. So you must learn to listen to The Gut and The Heart and let them guide you where your training and I can not.”

     “What if I get it wrong?” She was truly concern about that possibility as she faced the start of her Duty.

     “Then the soul will move on, and the Universe will deal with it somehow.” He shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “You will be fine. Have faith in yourself.”

     “I am unsure.”

     “Fine. Have faith in Death then, he chose you and he has been doing this a long time.” She nodded to say she would take that as her strength and set her features to resolute.

     “Hey Anastasia.” 

     “Yes Xan.”

     “I know you no longer need to but you look like you need a bathroom break.” Her head snapped to stare at him. “Constipation is a killer in the real world.” His little face was still as stone, she was not sure how to respond until his mouth quirked up at the sides and he started grinning.

     “I will smack you little boy.”

     “You will be too busy. Welcome to your Duty, Angel of Death.”


	4. Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Anastasia's experiences as Death's Angel.  
> Including a surprise encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anastasia and Battle have some interactions.  
> First tie into Game of Thrones partial-canon.  
> Jon isn't too far away now.

     Anastasia could see why Death had abandoned his post. His duty was depressing. You watched people die or live shitty lives. Life had been wrong you barely got to save anyone. If the movie wasn’t bad enough the soundtrack was terrible, Anastasia listened to the prayers of people wishing to escape their deaths or wishing her vengeance on others or the gut-wrenching prayers for Death to take them.

     _I can’t stand to be married to him one more day, I want him to just die already._ Then you shouldn’t have married a man quadruple your age.

     _Please just let me die. I can not live in this world where everyone hates me. Just let me die and be finished._

_May death come and free her of her pain, she is a good person she doesn’t deserve to suffer._

_Kill me, Kill me now. I swear if she says one more word I’ll find a gun and shoot myself. Does she ever shut up._ Turns out he shot her instead a year later after too many droning complaints and insults.

     _Death would be better than this pain. If he doesn’t love me I don’t have a reason to live._ Two days later he stop avoiding the girl and proposed very nervously.

     _May his line die so I will be free of the threat of him._ This one made Anastasia shiver, the voice was ominous and hollow.

    

* * *

 

     “Please may I have my machine?” The girl was six and sitting in a hospital bed, the machine she referred to was a nebuliser for her Ventolin. It took a lot of effort for her to huff out the words and she was rake thin from a life of constant illness. 

     “It is not time.” The Nurse reprimanded her harshly, as she left the room.

     “But … I… can’t … breathe now.” The girl started to cry, but Anastasia heard her scold herself internally about how it would just make it harder if she cried. She reached over and pressed the call button and waited for someone to answer.

     “What now?” It was the same nurse as before. Dressed in blue and white with curly dark hair. Donna had liked this nurse once but the cranky look on her face and refusal to get her medication was changing the little girl’s attitude towards her.

     “Can’t –wheeze- breathe. Can I –wheeze- have my Ventolin?” She looked desperately at the woman wishing her Mum was here to ask instead, they wouldn’t refuse Mum.

     “I told you it is **not** time.” The woman walked out of the room, she had better things to do than run after this kid. She was too busy for this attention seeking. Except Anastasia could have told her this was not attention seeking, Donna was dying slowly and the little girl knew it.

     Again the call bell went off for the Children’s Ward and the Nurse stomped back to the ward and its only occupant. She was sitting on her bed so tiny compared to the adult sized bed. Many would look at this tiny child, thin like a baby bird without feathers and have pity for her but the nurse had seen so many sickly children she no longer saw their patheticness.

     “I will not answer this bell again! Stop pressing the button.”

     “Vent… o… lin, please.”

     “No. Do not press that button again.” Again she left and Donna thought she was definitely about to expire. Her lungs felt like they were going to explode, every breath scratched and scraped its way through closed airways.

     _One last try._ Donna knew what the nurse said but she had fought for her life with every breath so far, she was not going to stop until there was no air left to live with. So she pressed the button one last time, believing she was about to die.

     “I will not go to that room again! You deal with her.” She heard the nurse say to another.

     “Now Donna you can’t just keep pressing …” This one was in white and her hair was long and straight in a ponytail. Donna had no breath to ask for her medicine she just looked at the woman with large eyes as her vision went dark. “What the Hell!?” The new nurse said more but Donna was no longer conscious.

     For Donna The Black was not a tunnel, it was just the inside of her own body, still black and gigantic compared to how big she felt. She stared out at the world as if through her pupils and she felt warm. The warmth radiated from a presence behind her, she did not look back at it because she knew it was Jesus Christ or God and he was there to keep her company as she waited, waited for her doctor to save her. Her doctor was there telling her she was going to be alright, he would get her through this, she believed him because Christ hadn’t taken her anywhere.

     Anastasia smiled at the strength this little girl had, perhaps Anastasia was not Jesus Christ as Donna thought she was, but the little girl was so faithful and devoted, that she trusted Anastasia so implicitly. She held the little ones soul as the doctor raced to save her life and was brought a sense of peace from the utter peace and trust the little one had to just sit and wait. Donna thought re-breath was inevitable, and Anastasia could not help but give it to her.

     Anastasia kissed the back of Donna’s head as she stood and walked toward her eyes as if filling her body again with her soul.

     Bless those that have no doubt that their fight is worth it and that they will overcome their obstacles, even death itself. The little girl’s eyes flicker open to gaze at her distraught mother, tubes sticking out of her everywhere and a huge smile on her little face.

     “I am okay Mummy, don’t cry.” The girl wheezed with a vibrant smile on her face. The fight wasn’t over for the little girl but she always put her faith in Anastasia returning her to her family and Anastasia never failed her, though none were ever as close as that event or as long.

 

* * *

 

     The blood hit the wall with power, arterial spray. The knife slashed out again, opening another artery and spraying the wall in a natural paint. The woman held her throat to staunch the flow as she crawled over to her dead husband, remembering his warning that this was a possibility with the psychotic woman holding the knife not being locked up for their protection.

     The woman had attacked her husband first to make it easier on herself. Crept into the room to watch them sleep and enjoy the sickness within herself as she thought how peace was never going to be theirs. He had woken with the warmth of his life escaping as she deliberately drew the knife across his throat. She got a thrill and satisfaction from watching the wife wake to see her husband bleeding and dying.

     Anastasia watch the husband’s soul rage that he could not save his wife from this lunatic, that he had to watch her crawl as the woman cackled at her work and the blood soaking into their bed. The useless thought of ‘Now they can not deflect how dangerous this bitch is’ went through his head.

     “Save her!” He turned to the Angel of Death.

     “To save her would be torture to both of you. Soon she will be with you and away from that woman.” She hoped that gave some comfort.

     The wife collapsed onto her husband’s chest and turned to the woman hovering above them with the knife dripping with their blood. “You hateful creature.” She rasped at the murderess.

     “The bastard got what he deserved, so did you, you little bitch.”

     “We go to peace, you will forever be a monster, the dog that bit the hand that tried to help it.” The wife lay her head on her husband’s chest. “I love you.” Were the last thoughts and words of her mortal life and then she stood beside her husband.

     "My love." He smiled.

     “We are free of her finally.” She said. “I am sorry, you were right, she is not worth my worry.”

     “Finally we are alone. I love you too.” They walked into the next world with their arms around each other.

 

     Anastasia stood at the end of the woman’s bed. She did not know exactly what she would appear as, she had chosen to simply be what the woman feared. It had been months since this woman had killed her daughter and son-in-law but still she ranted that they had attacked her and she did no wrong. Well Anastasia was over hearing her speak her lies and had decided to reap this woman’s life. She wasn’t even a real person anymore hadn’t been when she had murdered her daughter, was less now.

     As her eyes flicked opened she saw someone standing at the end of her bed. The room was dark and she could only see the darker shape in the darkness. “What are you doing? Stop standing there like an idiot, or did you think to scare me you bastard? Ha. You are pathetic.”

     Anastasia realised the woman thought she was her beleaguered husband, the one her daughter had been trying to save from her abuses, the one her daughter had to die for.

     “I am not who you think.” The voice Anastasia spoke in was masculine. So this woman feared a man. “I have come for you, your husband sleeps beside you, but I will be taking you now.” The woman turned on the light at her bedside and gasped as she saw Anastasia’s apparition.

     “No, no. No, you are dead, you died. I escaped you.” She turned to shake her husband. “Wake up!”

     “He will not. I have taken him from you as you took your daughter and her husband.” She made it appear that the old sleeping man was covered in blood and that his throat hung open from a deep slice. “But I have kept you to remind you that you must be punished.” Anastasia stepped towards the woman and leaned over her bed.

     “NO! Don’t touch me!” She screamed. Her heart started thudding unevenly and then suddenly it stopped. Anastasia stood back to see the woman’s life leave her body.

     “The decision is yours what happens next Xan but I was kinder to her than she was to others and I have no mercy left within me for those that torture others.” Xan stood beside her with a worried look on his face.

     “I will take care of this. Her husband will mourn her.”

     “Her daughter would have mourned her if she hadn’t killed her.” The angel now looking an angel again turned from the woman in the bed and walked away, washing her hands of another unseen monster, at least she would not hurt anyone anymore. Too late for some, too soon for others, but long overdue to a silver haired girl with a heavy burden.

 

* * *

 

     All the wars had made Anastasia numb to the seeming waste of lives that came with the wars men made on each other. When her duty had begun she had wept for the harshness of people’s lives and deaths, but the endless queue was draining her of her compassion. She wondered absently sometimes if this was the reason The Guide was so dispassionate. Every now and then Xan would stop on his way through and share some time with her, so she didn’t feel lonely, but she was beginning to think she would never feel the comfort of companionship, truly. Who can understand the loneliness of Death’s Angel? Every soul was only passing through or leaving to return to what they once were. Who could possibly understand the sucking loneliness of her Duty?

     “Death.” Xan was at her side, reading her mind and answering her question. “He understands.”

     “I understand his too. No wonder he needs to leave and have a holiday.” Anastasia wanted a holiday.

     “He does not have a holiday. He seeks understanding of what he doesn’t always have. He seeks that which has been stolen from him. He takes the offensive against his enemies.”

     “Like doctors? Lifesaving people?” She had never thought of Healers as her enemy.

     “No. Mortals do not bother Death, like you he would prefer everyone lived long happy lives, he probably considers such life-savers allies.” Xan sighed as he thought of the being they were speaking of. “Sometimes he actually never goes away at all, just closes his eyes and turns away from the world. Retreats into himself.”

     “Is Death still around?” Anastasia looked about wildly as if she could catch a glimpse of the missing deity.

     “No, he is gone this time. Remember this is not forever for you Anastasia.”

     “It seems longer than a lifetime Xan.” It felt like a thousand lifetimes had passed.

     “Time works differently in here.” He said with an adorable little smile. “You would be surprised at how little time has actually passed for you. Don’t worry as I said it is not forever.” Then he was gone as fast as he had arrived. She sighed as she got back to it.

 

     War had made Anastasia extremely proficient at the Last Breath function of her duty. Thousands of men dying simultaneously sometimes meant the soul clean-up took what felt like weeks after just one battle; years after a war. All the dead. Truly in battle and war there was little chance for Re-breath or Life for Life. Truly war was just a great mess of bodies and souls, Anastasia was glad the majority of souls did not come to The Black with the visage of their deaths. It would be disturbing to see people cut up and mutilated, make this duty impossible. Some souls would still come through with their death as a cloak.

     Battle, Anastasia had finally met him and was awed. No wonder the man made Life weak at the knees. He was a giant of a man that seemed to have an issue with wearing a full set of clothes. Usually she got to stand beside him as he watched the battles with her, but where she grimaced he smiled. He was a giant of a man with biceps the size of her head. His hair looked dirty and bloodied most of the time but also appeared clean at the beginning and end of every battle. He wore his hair long and it was matted into ropes that hung down his back. A great beard, sometimes braided should dominate his face but his eyes did that, always sparkling with joy. His face bore a few battle scars that gave him a distinctive left eyebrow with three scars breaking it up. Sometimes his skin bore tattoos of the combatants and their armies.

     She noticed he wore the armour of the battle they were watching, though mostly he was largely bare of chest. She mentioned it once and he laughed loudly and she felt the universe shake she was sure.

     “I am a barbarian at heart and we didn’t used to wear any clothes into battle once.” He smiled widely at her. “Be glad I have learnt to wear pants.” Then he winked at her.

     “How can you watch this and smile?”

     “This is my blood and flesh. Battle is life. A man is never more alive when he is killing another man.” When she eyed him dubiously, he smiled again. “Well then and when he is making love to a woman or holding his child.”

     “Interesting.” It wasn’t but she had nothing to argue with.

     “Tell me angel has a man ever made love to you and all you felt was how alive you were?”

     “I had my memory removed, so I can not remember. But as it was taken due to violence…” Blue eyes to calm her mind. “… I am guessing, no.”

     “Maybe you have and it would be too painful to not be with him that you could not be allowed to remember.” He turned to look at her as if he had some knowledge about her life she did not. He smiled warmly before turning back to the battle before them and laughing with mirth as a man’s head flew in the opposite direction to his body.

     “Barbaric.” She huffed as she set to putting these men to their rest.

     “Exactly!” Then he was gone as sometimes he was, but as she looked out onto the battlefield she saw him there, no longer gigantic but still large and axes swinging, taking life with abandon. She growled at the extra souls she would need process due to his involvement. A soft green glow entered the tunnel and Anastasia knew that meant she was receiving a rare visitation from Life.

     “He does love his battle.” She smiled softly and with great love in her eyes as she watched the deity that was her husband slice men to pieces.

     “How is that your husband?” Anastasia did not understand their diversely differing marriage. “How can you be a Goddess of Life and he ends it constantly?”

     “Did The Guide not explain?”

     “Life is a battle and Battle is life.” Yes he had but surely there was tension between them due to their vastly diverse views.

     “Yes. That is how War explained it to me in the beginning.” Life smiled at the memory of having it explained to her as if she were a babe.

     “War? You mean Battle, your husband.” Life shook her head. “Also what was with telling me Death was your husband, when Battle is your husband?”

     “I merely did not argue with your assumption.” Life smiled warmly but Anastasia found it condescending.

     “Xan laughed at me for saying I thought Death was your husband.”

     “Xan? He lets you call him that?” Life appeared surprised. “Of course he does, he likes you.”

     “Is that so strange?”

     “A little. It took millennia for him to allow me to call him that. It is his special little name from his brother, Battle only gets to use it because he has been with them from almost the beginning. Of course, War would insist Battle use his nickname for his brother.”

     “War, Battle, The Guide, Life and Death. How many of you are there?”

     “War is another facet of Death. So four currently.”     

     “What of Death’s wife, Xan said she is simply known as Beloved? Would that not be five?”

     "Death’s wife is no goddess, she is mortal.”

     “Mortal? How?” Surely that would be impossible, how could Death’s wife be mortal?

     “Death controls it all so she may appear to be immortal but she is mortal.”

     “Mortal, like me.” Anastasia had to admit that was unexpected. However had Death fallen in-love with a mortal?

     “Exactly like you.” Life chuckled. Then she gasped and sighed. “How magnificent is that husband of mine in a fight? He does like killing men.”

     “Like making love to a woman.” Anastasia referred back to what Battle had said.

     “Oh he is magnificent at that too.” Life smirked. Anastasia blushed at Life’s words and tone. She wished for a moment she had known or remembered being loved by a man but she remembered nothing of love and vaguely she thought she remembered hatred, not from her but of her. She felt someone had hated her. “Perhaps at the end of this service you will know what I mean.”

     “I doubt it, after this duty will I even be able to connect with another emotionally? I tire of watching people die.” It did not save her from having to do it though.

 

* * *

 

     The battle raged, men were falling all around the two lords as they battered at each other, neither army seemed to have the advantage. It would all come down to the result of who defeated the other between the two men in the middle of the Maelstrom. Anastasia could not even say because to be completely honest she did not care. She had come to hate war, all the unnecessary deaths. She knew she was bound to haunt these scenes to take those caught in the carnage. Anastasia thought the fair knight would win, for his prowess with his sword was greater, he moved with little effort to parry the larger dark lord. Actually having watched sword duels before she thought he was very adept with his weapon, one of the greatest swordsmen she had seen.

     He sheathed his sword as his opponent’s weapon slammed into him. Anastasia did not understand, why had he chosen to die? A strike to the chest crushing his rib cage and puncturing a lung, then one to his head crushing his skull into his brain. The blood swirled in the turbulent water and the rubies from his armour scattered into the river. The large lord had no time to savour his victory as the surrounding soldiers seeing the water swirling red with blood and rubies dropped their weapons and dived for the gems falling in the river. The Battle of the Trident was violent and wasteful and forever would that part of the river be called the Ruby Ford. The fair Prince’s forces were gutted and demoralised by their liege’s defeat and soon they surrendered.

     “Why did you surrender to your enemy?” She asked before the fair warrior could even note he was in The Tunnel. She was surprised he did not look disorientated, like he had expected the space he found himself in. He was not a returned soul, she had never seen him before to her knowledge and she had been doing this for what seemed like eternity.

     “Life to pay for life.” He said calmly with a voice that might lull maids to fall in love.

     “That is not your decision.” She said in an ominous tone.

     “I give my life so my wife and son will live.”

     “Again not your decision. Do you hope to bribe me?” She was enraged more than she should be, because what did she really care?

     “No, I did not pay my life to you.” He smiled then, a beautiful smile on a beautiful face and bowed respectfully before walking calmly past her.

     “I did not give you your leave. I wish an explanation.” 

     He turned to her and shrugged, he had grace like she had barely seen before. “My opponent will be distracted by my death and his victory. Others will move to have him replace me. All this will slow him or hopefully stop him from seeking my wife and son before they can escape. I pay my life so my wife and son may live.”

     “Your love for them is great, but still not your decision. If the Universe wishes your wife and child then it will have them.”

     “My son has a great destiny, if he is lost many will die. The Universe will accept my terms because without my death, my son will die and if he dies a great part of the Universe will too. The Universe will not allow itself to be amputated.” Without any more thought to the Angel to which he spoke he walked on.

     “How the Hell does he get to make his own decision?” She growled to the Universe, The Guide appeared.

     “You had a question?”

     “How did that…” She exhaled angrily.   

     “There are beings beyond your power to influence, those bound more directly to the power of the Universe.”

     “Still doesn’t explain…”

     “Dragons.”

     “Dragons? That was a man.”  

     “That was a Dragon. In the world he came from and many others he is known as Crown Prince Rhaegar. In other worlds he is Nikolai, First Fang of Flame, or just First Fang. True Dragons can morph themselves for they are magic made flesh. Made flesh by The Elder, Death even makes them immortal, hence you can not influence them.”     

     “Where are his scales and wings?” She knew she was being petty but there were few perks to this job and now this Dragon had negated the only one. She could control the deaths of people.

     “I’m sure if you angered him he would show you but he does not need to. I may show you later. Now just go back to all the other men who are dying in that battle.”

 

     The young woman looked up with trepidation as the knight opened the scroll and read it, great sorrow creased his features and tears came to his eyes.

     “Tell me, Dayne.” She commanded but with little strength behind her words for she feared she already knew what was contained in the message.

     “He is dead. He lost his battle with … I am so sorry Lya.”

     “No-o-o!” The girl ran. She had no plan of where she would go just she could not be in a room where a message said Rhaegar was dead. She had nowhere to go, her father was dead murdered by the Mad King as with her elder brother, Ned fought alongside the beast that had slain her husband and wished to make her his wife, and Benjen was too young to help. She and her baby were alone and unprotected. What could she do?

     A sharp pain in her abdomen halted her flight. She fell to the floor in agony and as she sat there screaming she heard Sir Arthur calling her and running to her side. All she could think about though was her loss of Rhaegar and the pain she was feeling.

     “Oh gods Lya you are bleeding.” Arthur said as he got to her and kneeled.

     “No! I cannot lose my baby too, he is all I have of Rhaegar.” She sobbed as Arthur picked her up yelling for someone to aid him and carried her to a bed. He also hoped she had not lost the little prince as he was all anyone had left of Rhaegar.

     Wylla the mid-wife approached the knight and at his expression of askance she shook her head, the girl was losing the baby. The prince was dead, and soon his mother would need expel the small one from her body. Birth her dead son. Lyanna just kept screaming no, and all Arthur could do was hold her hand.


	5. Meet Our Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the story didn't end.
> 
> Hope continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a short chapter.  
> To prove hope is not lost and the story will go on.
> 
> Sorry, I did not realise last chapter finished where it did so looked like the story ended.

     Anastasia stared at the little bean of a foetus, she had seen miscarriages before, they were always difficult; to lose your life before you truly had it even. The unformed limbs the big bulbous orbs that would have been its eyes _. Wait why are they blue?_  She got closer and stared at this foetus.

      “I have paid for his life, send him back.” The voice was hard and commanding. Anastasia spun to see the Dragon, except now his skin was no longer pale and smooth, it was shimmering and scaled. His hair was still silver, strangely like hers, but the ends were aflame, though it did not seem to be burning.  His eyes no longer indigo and ethereal, they were flaming orbs.

     “Why are his eyes… why are the … Why are his eyes blue now?” She was mesmerised by them.

     “Part of his destiny, send him back.” She could have refused, she could feel she had the power to, but the little life fascinated her, and she suddenly wanted to see how it went. So, it was she sent him back and decided to watch this girl and her growing baby as much as she could with her duty.

  

* * *

 

     Wylla had been a mid-wife for many years and she was witness for the first time to a child she thought dead in his mother’s womb continue to grow and kick to let the world he was alive and well.  The girl seemed almost blessed or the babe was, for after the incident that had Wylla believing the babe was following his father and other family into the arms of The Stranger, the pregnancy went along without incident.

     Sir Dayne came to the young girl everyday to give news of the War and the Realm. They discussed leaving Westeros, going to Esso for the prince’s protection. Lyanna was loath to leave the land of her birth but her son was not safe.  Lord Commander Hightower reminded her that her own brother fought beside her husband’s murderer, that he waged war to see her son’s throne taken from him. Sir Hightower said they could not stay in the Tower forever, they were in Dorne and if the Martell’s were to get wind of her presence, or the soon-to-be prince’s they would come to slay her so Princess Elia and her son would have no competition for the Mad King’s throne. She had no allies to trust other than the three kingsguards.

      Sir Arthur Dayne, Sir Oswell Whent and Sir Gerold Hightower all vowed to stay with their princess and her child until their dying days, to serve them as they would have served Rhaegar. Lyanna only asked they serve her son and keep him safe, to guide him to his destiny and his throne when the time came. Still Gerold Hightower’s warnings haunted her.  Should she leave Westeros?

     “Arthur, will House Martell hunt us?” Arthur’s House was sworn to the service of House Martell he should know them best.

     “I fear for Prince Aegon and his mother Princess Elia they may.” Arthur hated to think it, but he must protect his little prince as he promised his friend.

     “I would not think it of Elia.”

     “I would hope it would not be, but the realm is in tatters.”    

    “Which is the doing of Rhaegar and myself.” Lyanna could not believe they had been so naïve, to think love would conqueror all.

      Arthur snorted in amusement. “Lyanna, it was not that simple. Rebellion was in the air before Harrenhall.”

      “You think?” Lyanna hoped Arthur was correct, but feared he was simply trying to calm her fears.

     “Duskendale. Tywin Lannister saw opportunity and strangely showed his hand too early. But Lords Tully and Arryn, they were always planning this I am sure.  House Targaryen has had many haters for a very long time.  The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms had simply come to the end of their patience with the royal family, so little patience they couldn’t even wait for Rhaegar to inherit the throne. They should have deposed Aerys but they killed their only hope of change.”

       “As a Kingsguard should you not be more loyal to your king?”

     “Your father was not the first to be tortured by the Mad King.” He stopped as he saw her pain at the mention of her father’s death, but then he saw her inhale and push it aside. Lyanna would have been a good queen. “I saw things my oath could not forgive. Rhaegar was as Tywin Lannister said a better option, but Tywin’s words marked Rhaegar in his father’s eyes and well Aerys had no hope.”

     “Now the hope of Rhaegar is gone from the Seven Kingdoms.” She spoke softly, the world was in tatters.

     “But his son still lives. Aerys will name your son his heir and hope will be restored.”

     “Or he will name Prince Aegon.”

     “No.  Aerys fears Elia was untrue to Rhaegar, he knows as a Stark your son will have no other father but your husband.”

     “Still, Sir Hightower says we must leave Westeros to keep him safe.”

     “We may need to.”

     “Should we leave now while I can?”

     A throat cleared as the Lord Commander approached. “No.”

     “Sir Hightower you said we must go, that we are not safe.” Lyanna was confused by this change.

     “Circumstance has changed.” His tone was ominous.

 

* * *

 

     War is brutal, but some people are monsters. This Anastasia had been shown many times during her service, but Gregor Clegane was a true monster in her opinion.  The golden lion army with their red cloaks rode in and sacked the city that had thought them saviours, and monsters rode in with them.  The Mountain’s handiwork was wrapped in red cloaks and set before the Stag that killed the Dragon, and Anastasia understood why Lyanna had not chosen this man.

     The dark princess with her dark hair and olive skin stood before Anastasia shaking from her experience at the monster’s hands and other parts, trembling for the visions she thought would never leave her eyes, the fates of her children.  For a moment she thought to call the Dragon to calm the woman, but then remembered he had not died to protect this wife and her children but another wife and her child.  Would this dark princess be warmed by the Dragon or cold to it? So she instead gave this wounded woman a hopefully greater gift – her children. Not as she had been tortured to watch them murdered, but perfect and whole.  And she watched the woman’s pain melt away, as she embraced her children. Then pointed the way for them to go on to another better world.

     “Thank you.” She turned to see Rhaegar, calm and human.

     “Did you love her?”

     “I was fond of her.”

     “Did you love your children?”

     “I adored them, but as with Aerys, I was never truly sure they were my children.” He did not appear angry at that statement, as if it was of no consequence whether they were or weren’t his children.

      “Do you feel responsible for their deaths?” Anastasia was confused by this conflict as she had never looked into the why before. Surely though the horrid deaths these children suffered had no reason.

     “Only that I could not save them. That I could not convince Aerys to send them to Dorne.” He did sound sorrowful. “Unfortunately the only one whose life and survival is important is the one yet to be born.”

 

* * *

 

     “What has happened?” Arthur saw this change of circumstance was dire news, by the expression on his Lord Commander’s face and the way he stood.

     “The King is dead.” Hightower's voice was cold.

     “How?” Her voice shook and her hand went to her abdomen.

     “Assassinated. Sword to the back.” He seemed extremely angry in his reply and his fists balled.

     “Who?” Arthur asked.

     “Sir Jaime Lannister.”

     “What?! Jaime would never be so dishonourable.” Arthur could not believe it, Jaime was young but he was a good man.

     “Well he was. Worse, that is not all the news.”

     “Sir Hightower how could this have happened? What of the other guards?” Lyanna was concerned for the rest of the story.

     “He assassinated Aerys as the city was being sacked by Lannister forces.” The strain in Gerold’s voice told Arthur and Lyanna, the world had gone insane in his opinion.

     “Wait. Sacked? Where is Elia? Where are her children?”

     “Bleeding at Robert Baratheon’s feet as I hear.”

     “What?” Lyanna did not think highly of Robert Baratheon from her own experiences but to condone the attack on a woman and her children was even beyond her belief of him.

     “Robert is to be crowned King, Cersei Lannister is to be his queen. Her dowry was Elia Martell’s rape and murder; and the murder of her children.”

     “The Queen? Where is Queen Rhaella?” The girl worried for her good-mother and good-brother, Rhaella was with child.

     “Dragonstone with Prince Viserys, she is stuck there until her child comes. Your brother has broken the siege on Storm’s End and Stannis is now sieging Dragonstone.  I fear they will kill the Queen and her children.”

     “You must go rescue her!” Lyanna could not let this madness claim the kind woman and her children.

     “We must stay here with you.”

     “She is with child, she could be carrying a Dragon prince.”

     “You are carrying a Dragon King.”

     “What? I am not…” She let all the news soak in.

     “Lyanna,” Arthur took her hand gently. “Aerys is dead; Rhaegar is dead; Aegon is dead; Your child is now King.”

     “Where is my brother? Where is Ned?”

     “We don’t know yet.”

     The northern girl, who was now the Mother of the unborn king took a deep breath to calm her nerves and her mind. “Counsel me, Lord Commander, why must we stay?”

     “The King must be born on his sovereign soil and if we can arrange it, his feet must never leave it until he has regained his throne.”

     “It will substantiate his claim.” Arthur added.

     “Then we will stay. My son will right these wrongs, he will see the end to the reign of House Baratheon. He will watch House Lannister burn. He will see the end to House Arryn and Tully as well.  The rebels will not survive his rise.” There was a steel to her voice and this girl that Rhaegar loved became a woman to see his will and plan done. “The Dragons will not be shackled, they will take flight again.” Soon her son would be born and then the world would quake.

 


	6. The Day of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born as a battle raged below, a peaceful child enters the world in blood.
> 
> His Light shines bright enough to pierce Death's Veil itself.

     **Then the day of blood came.**

 

     And a strange woman came with it, to Lyanna’s side. The Kingsguards had tried to halt the woman but she deftly sent all to the floor. Arthur ran after her to enter Lyanna’s room and find her doubled over with the woman kneeling before her, hand on the girl’s abdomen. Arthur was desolate at the thought they had kept her safe for so long and right as the days wound down to their king’s birth they failed in their duty.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia felt drawn away, which was strange for never before had she been drawn during a passing. Always time would kind of warp so she could seemingly be in two places at once, like the deaths were making a queue. Her attention spun away from the warrior before her, not even giving her the time to send him on, he was left to stand there as her focus spun her away.

 

* * *

 

     “Now comes the Dragon King.” The woman spoke as she rose and turned to face the white cloaked knight. “Well help me get her to the chair, and you will need go get the midwife.”

     “Lyanna.” Arthur rushed to her side, in the months they had stayed here he had grown attached to the girl his friend had loved, loved her in his own fashion even.

     “I am alright Arthur, go get the midwife and come back as quickly as you can.”

     He did as he was bid. Arthur rushed down the stairs vaulting over the still rising Oswell and taking two steps at a time to get down to where Wylla was. The woman stared at him bewildered as he babbled in her face at high speed, blinking at his incoherent words. Eventually – whether he suddenly spoke Westerosi or she just clicked to his excitement and panic – she nodded and gave her assistant instructions to get supplies, then headed up the stairs to Lyanna. He entered the room only steps behind the midwife. Lyanna was looking calm and the strange woman knelt at her side. Her hair was auburn and her cloak black, the clothes beneath only gave glimpse of a rich blue with golden trim.

     “Who might you be?” Wylla enquired, not used to seeing strangers here.

     “I have many names, I am here to guard the Dragon, so you may think of me as a Dragonguard.”

     “Huh, well the little one already has a number of guards. I also do not need people underfoot. He can stay because well he is too excited to leave, always happens with new fathers.”

     “I am not his father.” Arthur reminded Wylla.

     “You rubbed her swollen feet, that counts.” Wylla had seen how close the Knight and Lady had become, she thought perhaps the future may give this babe a father, given enough time.

     “Also, may I say,” The stranger spoke. “As his father is dead, he will most likely think you are his father, even if you are not. Little boys are like that.”

     “May I repeat Wylla’s request? Who are you?” That Arthur could deal with, talk of the little king thinking him his father he could not. His guilt for his affection for his prince and best friend’s wife, widow, he could not face.

     “As I said I have many names.” The woman spoke enigmatically.

     “All I want is one.” Arthur said annoyed.

     “Kasmira. I am a friend to the King.”

     “He is unborn, how can you be his friend?” Arthur was cautious of this strange woman.

     “Arthur Dayne, I cannot explain, but I am your ally.” Before Kasmira could speak more Lyanna cried in pain. 

     “Something is wrong. It feels wrong.” Lyanna managed between gritted teeth.

     “By The Seven girl, you are bleeding.” Wylla rushed over from the table where she was preparing her equipment. “Help her onto the bed.” She ordered Arthur, as she came over to assist and assess. Arthur lent his sword; he hadn’t realised he even still held against the foot of the bed so he might give Lyanna his arm. They lay the mother back and the midwife shooed Arthur to Lyanna’s head and lifted her skirts to check the problem. Lyanna screamed again.

     “So, shall he be born in blood as foretold.” Kasmira said quietly.

     “You speak of prophecy now!?” Arthur growled, he had listened to Rhaegar speak of this so often, but he was done with all this mysticism, Lyanna was in pain and the king maybe in danger. A pang hit him as he thought the girl may also be in danger. Childbirth stole so many women from the world.

     “Under a bleeding star.” She gazed at the foot of the bed and the pommel of the knight’s sword, carved with a comet. “Born in smoke and salt.” Her attention returned to Lyanna as she watched the pained tear stream down her face. And through the veil that held the other worlds apart she saw the flames as the Dragon watched from Death’s Angel’s side of the curtain, the nostrils flared with his emotions and worry and the smoke floating higher.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia was deposited in a stone walled room. She saw Prince Rhaegar standing in The Black watching the girl as she birthed the infant. He appeared concerned and although he looked human, the fire that made him, escaped as smoke from his nostrils. She vaguely remembered seeing something where a scaled and gigantic Dragon was portrayed breathing smoke from its nostrils before it breathed fire as a gout. Though something about the memory seemed fake, as if it was only a representation of the creature, she thought that maybe the case as she also recalled it was sleeping on a pile of gold. Rhaegar looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

     “I have no power over you. You should not be worried.”

     “Still I worry.” He said with a tone that said his confidence was not as it should be.

 

* * *

 

     “Please don’t take my baby. Take me and let him live. I have lost the man I love, don’t let the only proof of our love die too.” The girl was young, maybe twenty, no less than that. Her dark hair was plastered to her head from the effort of the birth. She had lost a lot of blood, Anastasia thought her prayer would be for naught, it looked like the girl was going to die with her baby anyway, she offered nothing to Death, only a few extra seconds, both the mother and babe would soon be hers to take to The Guide. Then she looked again, she knew this room, she knew this girl. The Dragon’s bride. The foetus with blue orbs. That is why the Dragon was here. He had been right to worry.

     The pain was beyond anything she had ever felt before, like her life drained away with every contraction. Perhaps it did, as Wylla was acting extremely concerned for her and her baby. Lyanna did not care if she lived so long as her baby did, she would give her life for him as Rhaegar had given his for both of them. A distraction, her love had gone to war to distract the enemy, not for House or personal pride, to distract the enemy from the only thing Rhaegar prized, his wife and unborn son. Lyanna was sure if Rhaegar had been aware of what fate awaited Elia and her children, he would have found a method to save them, but alas too many monstrous things had happened in this war, too many monsters had emerged from once good men. Lyanna could only hope her earlier words had been true, that her son would heal all this one day. She raised her head from the bed as she heard a horn on the air. Riders approached, but who?

     “I will meet whoever is approaching. Do not worry Lyanna, you birth a king today and his reign will be long.” Arthur rose and wished he could have gazed upon the face of his new king. Still he went to the bed and the girl, placed a hand on her abdomen and spoke to his unborn sovereign. “I will die for you if necessary, my king.”

 

     Sir Oswell Whent met Arthur on the stairs. “Small group. Probably half an hour away. I think it could be Lord Eddard by the colours. What do we do?”

     “We go and await them. If it is Robert, we kill him. If it is Eddard, we will try to convince him to bend the knee to his nephew.”

 

     The knights lounged on the boulders at the foot of the tower as if they had been idlily guarding the building. Sir Whent used his knife to slice at the apple in his hand, ensuring his weapon was out and ready if they must do battle with their princess’ brother in protection of their king. Six riders came over the rise, all northerners, all bannermen of House Stark.

     “Seems Gerold’s intelligence about Robert was right. Only Lord Stark cared to find Lady Lyanna.” Whent said low as the men’s symbols became discernible.

     “Robert may have had no reason to come, he may have sent Eddard.” Arthur said with derision.

     “Hold your anger Arthur.” Sir Whent counselled. “We do not yet know why your good-brother is here. He may not be Robert’s Dog. He may only be here to know the fate of his remaining pack.”

     “He is no brother to me.” Arthur thought of his sister Ashara, currently in Starfall assessing her options. “However, he is to Lyanna and perhaps his love for his sister will see our king safe. So, hold my anger I will.” The knights stood straight as the six dismounted their horses, taking stances ready to fight but also ready to converse. To signify this Arthur plunged his famous sword into the ground in front of his and between the two forces, their two against Eddard’s five.

     “Lord Stark.” Arthur nodded recognition at Eddard as he looked over his opponents.

     “I looked for you on the Trident.”

     “We weren’t there.” Arthur replied coldly. He had heard Ned was not there either, did he mean after during the clean-up?

     “Your friend The Usurper would like not have a crown if we had been.” Oswell added. They all knew Robert had stopped at the capital for his own glory. He also wished these men to remember the greatest of the Kingsguard had not been faced yet.

     “The Mad King is dead, Rhaegar lies below the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect your prince?” Lord Stark seemed angry about this point, so he might be but these men had a more important duty than he knew.

     “Our prince wanted us here.” Arthur was not willing to explain with the extra men present. They may be loyal to Ned, but they were still enemies of their little king. Ned looked up at the tower obviously thinking of his sister.

     “Where’s my sister?” Ned did not understand why the Kingsguards were here and why Lyanna had not come home. The prince had died months ago, surely these men would not have held her beyond their liege’s death. Ned had a horrible feeling things were not as he thought, or believed them to be. Lyanna could have been free, why did she not run to Robert? Was Benjen right? Did he know Lyanna so little that he had assumed strangers were better informed than he was? Had he been tricked as Ashara had written. _Ashara._ His heart constricted at the thought of the woman he had betrayed for Robert.

      “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” Arthur answered Ned. Then he donned his helm and stared at Ned a moment. “And now it begins.” Arthur pulled Dawn from the dirt as he also pulled the sword on the left of his belt. Oswell also brandished his sword, ready for battle.

     “No, now it ends.” Ned said with a sad look and a deep sigh, he had just wanted to find Lyanna, he had not wanted to fight these good men. Ned pulled his sword from its scabbard and his men with him.

      Howland beside Ned, pushed forward to engage Arthur with Ned, as the other three engaged Oswell, while one more circled around the famous Sword of the Morning. Arthur quickly sent the crannogman to the ground with a slice to his abdomen. Using his two blades Arthur parried the swords of his enemies.

     Oswell’s sword went through one of his opponent’s shield blocks and found his heart. Ned turned away from Arthur and engaged Oswell, he said because he was better matched with Oswell but in his heart he knew he could not kill Ashara’s brother. Their swords clashed with great swings but finally Ned’s sword found Oswell’s throat and brought the man down.

     If the northmen had been blessed with time to think they would have seen the mystery that this battle was, Arthur Dayne the greatest swordsman in the Realm had not slain anyone, Howland was his only cut. More of them should be dead. Arthur was holding back. Now he was surrounded by four swords, and all he had was two. He spun slowly in the centre of their circle. He had to bring these men down and hopefully non-fatally like he had Lord Reed. Again he spun his swords around his hands to make a shield of metal, but did not advance. One of the men rushed in sword swinging at the Kingsguard. Arthur easily parried with his spinning swords and after the first all dive forward, so began the dance of swords. Arthur would push the men before him back and make those behind chase him, then those before him pushed back and Arthur retreated with his slashing swords making those behind retreat with him. Eventually each of Ned’s men the fatal mistake of misjudging the white knight and ran in to slay him thinking they were the superior force and with four opponents even his great prowess with his sword could not pull his swords out of their paths quick enough and they fell on his swords but Ned Stark saw a grimace of regret under Arthur’s visor at each man’s defeat.

     It was down to Arthur and Ned, and the northern lord knew Arthur was better than him. He could also see Arthur was hesitant to slay him, he had had ample opportunity and had not taken it. Ned was confused, he was also curious, and damn tired. Whatever was holding Arthur back it would not be helpful soon as Ned could feel himself fatiguing, Arthur was sure to strike him down soon. He never even got to see Lyanna before he died, let her know he had not abandoned her. He remembered why they had rebelled against the throne even if Robert no longer did, they were supposed to be rescuing Lyanna from Rhaegar. Benjen would soon get news that Ned had fallen and that his little brother was Lord Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. Alone, so soon. Benjen would need raise his son for him. Little Robb.

     Suddenly Arthur stopped and a knife exited his throat, Ned did not know what happened, until Arthur fell forward into the dirt and Howland stood bloody knife in hand. Ned heard his name called from the tower and a pained scream had him running to the stairs.

     “Father!” Ned stopped at the ghostly call, where had it come from? He turned quickly but there was no one there, yet he felt the call was for him. Again, a scream echoed from the tower and he bolted up the stairs the ghostly call forgotten. …


	7. A Prince was Promised; A King was Gifted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King is born and Death takes the Toll.

 

     The labour was hard, and it took the girl’s strength, near the end she lapsed into unconsciousness between contractions. Lyanna roused as she heard the sounds of battle, looking terrified at the midwife. Had Robert come for her? Was he about to kill her son, she would thankfully be free of his obsession, but her son could die as Elia’s Aegon had, before he knew what life was? _Is it Robert?_ Would the Kingsguards be able to protect her son? She knew she would not be long for this life but wished her son to live a long life, even if he did not do it as a king; she only wished him to live now.  Wished him to be a beacon of the light, as Rhaegar had told her he would be, to show the world the love she and Rhaegar shared had been real and was everlasting.

     “Wylla. Is it Robert?  Has he come to kill my baby?”

     Kasmira went to the window and looked down on the battle, a number of men had already fallen, and a grey clad man stood against Sir Arthur Dayne, though he looked about to fall as well, she saw one of the men rise and circle behind the white knight, a small man, thin and weak looking. “It looks to be you brother Eddard, he seems to not have agreed with Sir Arthur to save your son.”

     “No.” Lyanna could not believe Ned was still choosing Robert, his false brother over her, his sister. Kasmira watched the small man attack Arthur’s vulnerable back, sinking a knife through his throat, the knight fell.

     “One last push Lyanna. Birth your son.” Wylla counselled as she went to the foot of the bed. She looked up, the bed was absolutely soaked in the girl’s blood. Lyanna screamed in the pain of her final contraction, then with the last of her strength beckoned for her son to be given to her. The little king came away from his mother far easier than Wylla expected, as if he wished to cause her no more pain.

     “Your brother has won by trickery.” Kasmira was angry that such dishonour had won the day. Then it had been the way of this rebellion had it not, lies and falsehoods had won the day.  The righteous had fallen and the dark souls had triumphed. “He is about to slay the knight.”

     “The baby isn’t breathing.” The Midwife said to the mother. Anastasia looked at the baby, he was beautiful as all were and although he was not breathing, he was not dead, for he opened his eyes to stare at her with eyes like molten sapphires shining in her light.  She thought him more beautiful than every other babe she had ever seen.

     “No-o-o.” The girl was at her end in so many ways. The girl’s cry had the Dragon flee, as if he turned to smoke, he was gone. Lyanna was devastated, but then she pulled all her remaining determination together, she would not be a whimpering woman; Aegon needed a strong mother. She was not long for the world, but he would not go to Rhaegar with her, her son would live.

_I have asked before, but I will ask again. Please do not take my son, let him live.  I ask the Old Gods of the North: Death, the God of many names and many faces; Life the Mother of All; The Messenger who guides us all and Battle, the Great Bear that protects, these and all other old Gods, save my son, so he might serve and save all. May the Great Dragons, Fire the Sun and Ice the Moon, give him their protection._

     “What were you going to name him, he should die with a name.”

     “Rhaegar wanted to name him Aegon and we would call him Jon for short.”

     Kasmira went to gaze upon him, and saw his eyes open and searching, not her or the room but somewhere else.  _You are not dead, you are not even dying._ She would have sworn he winked at her when she sent that thought to him.

     “Ned!” Lyanna thought maybe if she called her brother, he would come to her and leave Arthur. “Wylla sent a girl down to help Arthur for Jon.”  Save the only man she was certain right now would protect her son. “Is my brother coming?”

     “I will go.” Kasmira went to the door and looked back at the girl once before leaving. “I will ensure the knight’s health.”

     “They are both fine names. Jon, gift from God.” The Midwife smiled at the baby.

   

* * *

 

     “We will not take him.” The Guide stood suddenly at her side.

     “Why?” The Guide never interfered.

     “Two reasons. One because Rhaegar has paid for his life already and two, because I saw the way you looked at him. Take the mother early, then her life will pay for his and she can gift him life in complete truth. Even if Rhaegar hadn’t already paid for it, Lyanna can too and then no one can say his parents did not love him to death.” She stared at him surprised, he had never shown any empathy in the forever that it felt she had known him. “You have grown jaded, hard and cold. That child made you look warm and as if your fire had been re-ignited.  He should live simply for that Anastasia.”

     “And because of all the things his father said of his destiny.” She remembered the Dragon’s sacrifice and his rage when the girl had miscarried the babe earlier.

     “No, Anastasia because he gave you hope. The rest is just bonus.”

     “I answer your prayer Lyanna, your Jon shall live.”

 

* * *

 

     “Wylla! The babe is breathing.” Her assistant called urgently. After rushing to check on the babe Wylla swaddled him up and took him to his dying mother, she would be dead by day’s end, she would only have precious hours with her son before she left him alone in the world. Wylla wished they had a physician or a maester, they could save the girl, but Wylla could not stop the bleeding only slow it and soon the girl’s life blood would soak the bed more.

      “Lyanna, your Jon is alive, and he will live.”

      “No, I want to call him Caderyn, he is already a battle king. Ryan my little king. Did my brother abandon the battle at my call? Is Ned coming?”

      “Yes, but the toad eater is still with Arthur.” Wylla’s aide said from the window.

     “Howland? Why would he kill Arthur?” Lyanna was confused. Howland was her friend, he had known that she did not love Robert. Knew she had loved Rhaegar. Howland knew of Robert’s treatment of her and had encouraged her to escape him somehow, did he take offense that she had escaped Robert by eloping with Rhaegar?

     “I do not know my lady, but your brother is about to come through that door.”

     “Clean Jon up for him to see Wylla.” Lyanna finally released her son so her brother could see her son and his new king.

 

     Howland turned the knight over, Arthur Dayne, The Sword of the Morning would surely have cut Ned down if Howland hadn’t saved his friend.  It was a terrible way for a knight of his reputation to go but then that is not how he would explain it.  Ned bested The Sword of The Morning, by the righteousness of his purpose.

     “That is not what happened.” A feminine voice said from the stairs. Howland looked up to see a woman with hair as red as fire and skin strangely a similar green tinge as his. Her dress was blue - weaved to look as scales - and gold – weaved to looks as metal – form fitting to flare only at the elbows and knees. How she descended the stairs in it he did not know.

     “I will finish him.” Howland threatened with his knife to Arthur’s throat. She was unlikely to know he was going to do it either way.

     “You will burn if you try it crannogman. Your blood-ties to the Children of the Forest will not save you. They have in fact already cursed them.  The Great Other will annihilate your kin because of your actions this day. It is too late the King is born.  The Stag will fall, and the Dragons will rise.” There was a resonance in her voice as if it echoed off the Red Mountains around them. This woman did not halt her advance, just walked slowly toward her destination, which seemed to be the Knight.  Kasmira knew she could easily kill this man, but her words had not been completely true, Howland’s kinship with the Children of the Forest would save him so long as he spared the knight.  Kasmira needed her king to have one Kingsguard and thanks to the fight only Arthur remained, though she was sure that would be preferable to the girl upstairs anyway. Lyanna seemed to care for all her son’s guards but Arthur was special.

     “You speak riddles.” He had followed riddles and visions here, so he was not averse to them but hers seemed to conflict with his.

     “Leave The Sword so he may protect the Light. Death does not want him to pass on.”

     “Who are you?” _The Light_. His visions were also about the Light.  Had he backed the wrong side? He thought the Light would come from Ned, was it always Lyanna that would bring it forth? He was sure it would be Ned’s son, had envisioned the boy calling Ned ‘Father’, always with a sadness.

     “I am the last Dragonguard of the Crown Prince.” She spoke her duty to a man who would not understand it, but then none still lived that understood her duty.

     “You look like a servant girl.” Of course, she did not, she looked like a battle-maiden, minus the weapons.  Perhaps if she had kept her cloak.

     “I look human too, but I am not.” The woman walked over to the prone knight and his assailant. “Move away from the knight.” She placed her hand on Howland’s shoulder and applied a slight pressure that pined him to the ground. “Do not make me squash you crannogman.”

     Howland moved his knife away from Arthur’s throat and she released his shoulder, he rubbed it confounded by the strength she had shown. Rubbed his shoulder where she had held him and found it tender to the touch, when he looked down at it, he saw his clothes singed.

     “Lord Eddard will take his sister away from here.” He had to believe what he had seen in his visions.

     “He will take her yes, but only to bury her. The mother is not my concern for she is lost to life. You little frogman, you will do as I say and help your lord to help mine. Stay here.” She bent to pick up the knight and aid him up the stairs. “We need check Lord Stark is not a danger to our king.” She knew from experience the knight had passed, but she also knew her little king would not agree to losing the knight.

   

* * *

 

     Anastasia gazed at Arthur’s devastated face as he realised, he had fallen, and failed to protect Lyanna and Aegon. He still wore his wound. His head swung around desperately, as he tried to find a path back to the world of Life, many warrior spirits did this action. They wished to finish their battle, to win their war, unable to leave the conflict unresolved.

     “I must return. Aegon needs me. Lyanna is alone.” Anastasia saw Arthur cared more for the girl and the baby than he admitted.

     “Why? What are they to you?” Her voice sounded harsh, but she already knew the answer.

     “They are my family.” At hearing his own words Arthur blinked as the realisation of how his attachment to Lyanna had grown. Conflicting emotions crossed his heart and with her talents Anastasia could read them as they raced past.  He was surprised, shocked to realise he had grown to love the girl. Guilty for betraying Rhaegar by letting his regard grow. He felt joy at the thought of accepting this change to his story, then despair as he remembered his king and Lyanna were already dead.

     Anastasia wanted to give him this, but already she had saved the baby, what did she have to pay for Arthur’s life? She knew for that babe she would save anyone who ensured his safety, she just wasn’t sure how to do it.

 

_Has Life been so harsh to you? Has your heart become as jaded as your eyes? If you do not wish to take this man’s life, then do not. The choice is yours, the sword is in your hand Princess, no one else’s. Decide this man’s fate and let it be over for both of you._

 

     “This is your exit Knight.” She heard the deep rumble of Battle’s voice, but all she saw was a scruffy boy covered in dirt and dressed in fur.

     “Thank you, lad.” Arthur walked towards the boy and a door opened beside him.

     “Wait.” Anastasia’s voice halted the knight. “On whose authority do you release him?”

     “On your authority Anastasia.” The boy spoke with Battle’s voice again. “You wished to let him return, so I opened a door, so he could.” The boy turned to Arthur. “Go protect the king.” Arthur needed no more encouragement, he exited The Black.

     “Why are you a child?” Anastasia looked into the grey-green eyes she had grown to recognise as the giant man she called Battle, but it now occurred to her he must have another name as The Guide was Xan.

     “Do you think we can just enter their world with no pretext?” He smiled that large smile she had grown to love to see.

     “I hadn’t thought about it. I saw you enter a thousand battles before.”

     “Battles where one more or one less would not be noticed. To interact more intimately in the world we must be a apart of it. Be born, grow and die.” He then opened the door again and ducked out.

     Anastasia moved her focus to the room with the baby, to gaze down upon his beauty while the rest of the world moved forward.

 

* * *

 

     Kasmira met Wylla at the door to Lyanna’s room, the midwife had fetched some clean swaddling for the babe, for his travel, wherever that would be to, for he would not be staying here.

     “Lord Eddard has found his sister, he may be an ally.  She is telling him now.” Wylla updated the woman and the knight.  The midwife was relieved to see the knight was alive, even if only barely.

     “Lyanna?” Arthur’s voice held fear for the girl’s fate.

     “We can do nothing for her.” The Midwife said with much regret. Arthur’s head fell into his hands, this had been a day of disaster. He had heard the news from the aide - _Was it the aide? A fair girl_ \- the King had been born dead, now his mother was dying too, a girl he had grown to care deeply for. So many people lost.

     “He will be fine, his voice will never be the same but he will live to protect his king.” Kasmira said to allay Wylla’s concerns.  When the midwife looked disbelieving of her words she smiled. “I have some battlefield medic knowledge so believe me when I say it looks worse than it is.” She looked down at the woman’s hands. “Give me the swaddling, even if Lord Stark will not kill the babe, it is best loyalists to House Targaryen are far from here. I will send your assistant out as soon as I can. Flee Wylla and know you have saved the world this day.”  Wylla was hesitant to trust this woman, but her words were true, Lord Stark may spare his nephew, but she and her assistant were no one to him, they may be slain for their loyalty to the old regime.

     Once the midwife had left Kasmira turned to the knight. Leaning him against the wall near the door. “I must leave you here a moment, take a few moments to gather your strength and I will see you inside.”

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia looked to the men before her, most she had not seen before, one she had.  She pointed the way for the strangers and had the White knight wait.  She carefully, held him in his Last Breath, so she could show him his life of service and loyalty. A Life lived with honour and nobility. Then she gave him one last vision, not of his life but of the life he had died to save his little king yawning in the servant girl’s arms as she handed the child to Lord Stark, who took him with confusion and surprise, but also with tenderness.

     The Guide came to take him, and as Anastasia turned back to the dying girl, the Dragon appeared to embrace his Kingsguard and friend and welcome him to his new life and thank him for his last one. The Guide smiled at the knight.

     “See what you have done.” Xan said as he waved his hand.

>              A man stood in a high place, a black cloak hung from his shoulders and blew in the wind.  His features were solemn and head uplifted as he awaited something. There was a screech on the wind that sounded as if the sky had split open and a great shadow passed over his head.
> 
>                “Dragons rule the skies again.” A smile played on his lips before his features became brooding again. The voice was burred with a northern accent and dual Direwolves were engraved on his gorget. His hair was dark and pulled back in the northern style, his eyes grey like their princess, but the knights could see their prince’s brow and below the man’s beard his jaw. Their king had survived.
> 
>                “Your grace.” A man came from behind him, with the accent of a man from Flea Bottom, but the clothes of a lord.
> 
>                “Davos. You know my name.”
> 
>                “King Jon.” The older man’s hair was grey with age and he wore a beard, as he raised his hand to his breast and bent his head, they noted the missing digits on the limb.
> 
>                “Just Jon.”
> 
>                “That’s what I said, King Jon.” The younger man smiled at the older man’s words.

 

* * *

 

     Wylla re-entered the room, with swaddling in hand for the babe, she called her assistant to her with a nod of her head. “Go, flee far from here and forget the King you saw today until he comes to you himself.” Then she unlatched the door and nodded for the girl to go quickly as she crossed the room to the babe in his crib.

 

 

 


	8. A Mother Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Stark Finds his Sister and more than he expected.
> 
> Arthur's fate is revealed.
> 
> A reunion, short but hopefully sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter to introduce Ned to Jon.

     Eddard Stark burst through the door to the room in the top of the tower desperate to see his sister, to save her from whatever torture was being visited upon her.

     “Ned.”

     Ned placed Arthur Dayne’s famous sword at the foot of Lyanna’s bed. His only thought was his little sister. Why was she in this bed? What had Rhaegar done to her? Why was the bed covered in blood? How could he smell roses? He knelt down by her side and she turned her head to smile at him, she was so pale and weak.

     “Lyanna.”

     “Is that you?” Lord Stark looked down at the bed soaked in blood, she weakly raised her hand from her side to take his hand in hers. “Is that really you? You’re not a dream.”

     “No, I am not a dream.” He smiled at his beloved little sister despite their situation, he had found her and there was no greater joy in the world for him at this time. “I am here. Right here.”

     “I have missed you, big brother.” Ned was suddenly desolate at the waiver in the whispered voice she spoke with. He stroked her brow and the hair plastered to it from her sweat.

     “I have missed you too.”

     “I want to be brave.” She obviously was terrified.

     “Shh. You are.”

     “Oh, no.” She whimpered, Ned looked down the bed again, and at the blood-soaked hand he pulled away from her bed. “I don’t want to die.”

     “You are not going to die.” He said with more determination than he should have.  He looked again at her frightened face and then to the girl standing in the corner.

     “Get her some water?” He demanded of the girl hovering behind him.  What was this girl doing? Could she not see Lyanna was in a desperate state? What was so damn important over there? Maybe the girl did not wish to help Lyanna, she was dark-haired and olive skinned, a Dornish servant in drab clothes, probably loyal to the dead princess. Ned pushed the thought of Elia Martell from his mind, he was still having issue with what had befallen her and her children and Robert’s part in it.

     “No point to this Ned.”

     “Is there a Maester?”

     “Listen to me Ned.” He bent his head to hear her whisper. “His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds him, he will kill him - you know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me Ned, promise me.” She sobbed at her heartache as her brother was frozen by the revelation. He turned at the sound of an infant’s cry…

     The girl placed a swaddled bundle into the lord’s arms as Lyanna spoke what he thought to be her last words. “Promise me Ned, Promise me.”  Lord Stark took the baby from the midwife and gazed at this child that had been birthed into such a tragic state of affairs. The baby was perfect and he was Lyanna’s, he even bore her dark hair. 

     The tiny babe opened his eyes to look at his uncle then calmly closed them as if he felt safe.  Ned wondered if he should feel safe, Ned wondered if he could promise that, and even if he did, could he achieve it?

     “Promise me, Ned. Promise me.”

     “Yes, Lyanna, I promise.” Ned meant the words he spoke to his sister, not just because he was a Stark but because he had lost so many to this war, a war built on a lie. His father, two of his siblings, friends and loyal vassels, even the woman he had loved, Ashara. Ashara, He should return her brother’s sword to her, but how would he explain Arthur’s death, his murder? How would he explain his marriage to Catelyn Tully?

     The door crashed open and Lyanna turned to face it, Ned watched as she smiled to see a bloodied Arthur Dayne. “Arthur.” She sighed, “Ned has promised aid.” Then she turned back to her brother holding her son, happy to know Aegon was not alone in the world.

     Arthur came over to the bed and sank on the opposite side to Ned taking Lyanna’s other hand. He looked over the girl, wept silently for all the blood, and looked upon his king’s face for the first time, the child opened its eyes to behold him and then yawned and closed his eyes again. 

 

     Lyanna breathed her last with a smile knowing the Many-faced God had answered her prayers. She was content with the knowledge of her son’s protection, that he would be allowed to reach his destined place in the world and hopefully be happy.  She could return to Rhaegar’s arms and they could watch their little king grow together.

 

* * *

 

     The Dragon stood beside Anastasia as Lyanna entered The Black, he smiled at the girl as she appeared, healthy and whole. Anastasia smiled at the woman who had so bravely faced a challenge and met it. In the Light of Anastasia’s aura Lyanna Stark looked resplendent, her skin was pale and shimmered almost silver in the light, her hair waves of thick raven crowned with blue Winter Roses.  Anastasia stepped forward to speak to the girl and gazed into eyes that glittered a silver grey, there was something Anastasia could not put her finger on about this woman.

     “My Dragon Prince, My Flame.” Lyanna spoke to Rhaegar with a glorious smile full of love and joy.

     “My Wolf Maid, my Northern Frost Princess.” He stepped forward to encircle her in his arms as she turned from Anastasia.

     “How did we do?”

     “Hopefully well.”

     “I still think one of us should have survived.” The northern woman mused.

     “We can leave it to Stark. Dayne will go north and help him.”

     “Dayne was injured, Howland betrayed me.”

     “Even if it takes time Dayne will go north. While he heals, Kasmira will watch over Jon.  She was my last Dragonguard and she will be his first. Our son will have challenges to overcome but he was born to defeat the Darkness.”

     “Long live Lightbringer.” Lyanna said as she buried her face in his chest. After several minutes she turned to Anastasia. “I apologise, I should honour the Angel of Death.”  Lyanna finally looked at the Angel that was here to see her soul move on. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in Anastasia’s visage, then her head snapped to stare at her Prince.

     “Shhh.” He said as if to answer some question.

     “I know I do not look as one would expect.” Anastasia said to answer the other girl’s surprise.

     “No. I just did not expect a girl so beautiful, so I suppose, yes.” Lyanna said as she looked back at the shining girl with awe. “I did not expect you. But I am honoured to meet you.”

     “I am honoured to meet you too, Lyanna Stark.  You have a very beautiful son.” Anastasia looked back to stare at the babe in his uncle’s arms.

     “Yes. Don’t you just love him?” Lyanna asked with a smirk.

     “Lyanna.” Rhaegar’s tone said his wife should tread carefully.

     “I am sure many will love him.” Anastasia replied.

     “Shall we go? I imagine you wish to see people we have lost.” Rhaegar thought separating the two was probably for the best, he knew his bride and she had a glint in her eye he did not trust completely.

     “Yes, we shall go. Anastasia, please watch over my little king and keep him safe, after all we and he have suffered, please do not let him die.”

     “I will promise nothing, but I will try my best. I wish to see how he grows.” Anastasia returned her attention to the tower and the babe.  It took her a few moments to realise she had not introduced herself, so how did Lyanna know her name?

     “Why did you name him twice? We agreed on Aegon.” Rhaegar asked his wife, with curiosity.

     “You decided on Aegon, I like Caderyn more.”

     “He needs to be Aegon.” He seemed irritated but the love had not left his voice.

     “So, he shall be, but surely it will not hurt him to have an old name.” She spoke sweetly as if she had done some trickery and wished forgiveness.

     “Hmmmm.” Rhaegar half growled. Lyanna only chuckled.

 

* * *

 

     “Lord Stark,” Wylla turned to the girl’s brother “Your sister has passed but your nephew lives, what would you do with him?”


	9. Joy and Sorrow; A Tower Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter of decisions and plans.

     “Lord Stark,” Wylla turned to the girl’s brother “Your sister has passed but your nephew lives, what would you do with him?”

     “I will take him with me.” Lord Stark stared down at the babe that had his sister’s look.

     “How? He is the new King and the Usurper would see him dead.” Wylla thought the girl’s death had dulled her lord brother’s senses.

     “I will hide him as my own son.”

     “A bastard?! You can not raise our king a bastard!” Sir Arthur Dayne yelled at the lord, which brought Ned’s head to see the man he thought dead. Some part of him was gladdened to see Arthur Dayne, he had no desire to explain to Ashara what had occurred to her brother at his hands.

     “Robert will suspect nothing, and he will be safe, he has more his mother’s looks than his father’s. Robert had no knowledge of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s love so will suspect nothing of them having a son.” Ned knew this was true. Knew in the end Rhaegar had loved his sister far more than Robert.  Rhaegar had died to protect her and their son, Robert had allowed Lord Arryn and Lord Lannister to start planning his wedding to Cersei before he even knew Lyanna’s fate.  Ned sighed heavy of heart, saddened he had not supported his sister instead of his friend, had not listened to Benjen’s protests that Lyanna had not been stolen.  Raged at his father for not riding to demand her return, had his father guessed? Had his father died in a horrid fashion at the Mad King’s mercy, knowing his elder sons had the wrong impression of the situation? He may have failed Lyanna in life, but he would protect her son, his nephew, the true heir to the Iron Throne, the true King of the Seven Kingdoms. The Northman would respect the child simply because he had Stark blood and who knew what the future would hold for the boy and whether he would ever come into his true birthright.

     “I will go with my King.” Arthur said with finality.

     “You are a famous warrior how do you even plan to blend in? Also, you are too wounded to travel so far.” Ned needed to dissuade Arthur, he could put the babe in danger. To keep his promise to Lyanna and keep Jon safe from Robert he needed the babe to not be associated with Lyanna or Rhaegar or the Tower at all.  Arthur was a giant beacon to the boy’s true parentage, he could not follow because he could not be explained.

     “Take me to Starfall, and my sister.” Arthur knew Lord Stark was correct he would be no help to his King as he was, but once healed he would not be stopped from joining his little king in exile in the North, Arthur as all King Aegon had left of his true identity.

     “I cannot go to Starfall.” Ned blurted out too quickly, and maybe too loudly for it woke the baby. Aegon opened his eyes and almost looked concerned for his uncle’s emotions as if he wished to soothe him. “It would not be appropriate.” He spoke softer and calmer. He could not face Ashara, to see her would threaten his ability to go back North.

     “Are you afraid of meeting your wife again after you abandoned her to marry the Tully Witch?” Arthur growled at the insult this man had done his sister, Ashara. “Or afraid of seeing your children for the first time?”

     “Children?” Ashara had never sent him a message about such, why would she not tell him?

     “Yes, I received news you became a father recently and there was more than one.”

     “Twins?” Ned had received news that Catelyn Tully had also birthed him a son – conceived on their wedding night - whom she named Robb after their new king.  She spoke of his auburn hair and his blue Tully eyes.  He seemed to have had no mark on his son except to darken his hair from the rish Tully red.  He wondered what these children born of his deep love of Ashara were like, did they resemble him at all?

     “Twin sons and a daughter on the side.” Arthur Said with some warmth as he recalled the letter Ashara had sent him with excitement as she could not send one to Ned.  She said they were all little Starks with touches of Dayne but they were healthy and strong and would see her tired for the rest of her life she was sure.

     “Triplets.” Eddard breathed in awe.  Two sons and a daughter.  He looked at the baby and then at the knight, and Arthur saw the desperate need in the Lord’s eye to now go to see these children he may never have a chance to see again.

     “Take me home and meet them once before you abandon your real family forever.” Arthur set it as a challenge, he had hope for his sister that Eddard would do the honourable thing by her and tell Catelyn Tully to stay at Riverrun. He doubted it would occur as he had heard the Tully woman had also recently birthed a son for Lord Stark, even named it Robb for King Robert – the man hadn’t even been coronated yet.

     “I too will go with you.” The midwife declared.

     “You will be even more a beacon of mismatch than Arthur, with your dark skin.” Ned appreciated the loyalty these people showed but they would get Jon killed.

     Wylla leaned over the little king in his uncle’s arms and took him into her own. She shook her head at him as he opened his sleepy eyes to blink at her. Then she looked to Arthur and his confused expression. “Sir Dayne, you looked confused.” She nuzzled her face into the babe’s tummy and whispered, “You, Caderyn do not look confused at all.”

     “I would swear I saw you leave Wylla.”

     “And you would be truthful.” As she looked up the dark brown of her Dornish eyes, burned green as wildfire. Arthur inhaled sharply. “Be thankful Sword, for this magic also saved your life.” She turned to Lord Stark. “Lord Eddard Stark, I am Kasmira, last Dragonguard of the Crown Prince and now First of King Aegon.  Tell me what would not raise suspicions as a wet nurse for your bastard and I will be that.”

     “How???” Lord Stark was shock, his chair scraped backwards across the floor as he tried to move away. “Are you an assassin?”

     “Like a Faceless Man?”

     “Yes.” Ned replied with concern, he had only heard tales, never to his knowledge met one.

     “I am not a Faceless Man. I will not say I am not an assassin though. I will be anything I need to be for my King. We will discuss that later.” Kasmira knew she had divulged more than she usually might to these two men, but she had to allay Arthur’s fears for the babe’s security while he healed and warn Ned he could not betray his promise to his sister easily.  Kasmira did not worry though as she could see Lord Stark was in no danger of choosing anyone over his sister again. “However, we will be calling me Wylla, for safety.  King Aegon has more enemies than you know.”

     “We should pack and leave.” Arthur said thinking maybe Ned had been followed.  Not all men were as honourable as Eddard Stark as the knife wound in his back could attest.

     “No.” Ned stood. “Pack what is absolutely necessary for Jon and yourselves, only absolute necessity.  We will tear this tower down.”

     “Tear the tower down?” Arthur did not understand. Had Ned lost his mind? He seemed suddenly too calm.

     “Yes.  We will take Lyanna, and only necessities for only Howland and I have walked away from this tower alive.  And to honour those knights and lords that fell we shall build funeral cairns out of its rubble.”

     “May I ask why?” Arthur could see the honour of doing it just did not see the reason to waste the time and safety of the king. “It could put Aegon in danger taking the extra time.”

     “How? Aegon was not born and I have yet to collect this bastard son of mine from his mother.  Lyanna is dead and I would honour her place of demise as everyone would know, they also would expect without a time restraint or other good reason I would honour my dead and yours.  Especially the Sword of the Morning.”

     “Lord Stark has a point. If it is something people would expect him to do, then we must do it, or the lack of it happening may raise suspicions and questions.  Collect the barest of things and I will prepare the king.  Arthur carry the King Mother down.” Wylla started organising everything she needed to.

     “Lyanna is my sister, I will carry her body down.” Ned disagreed.

     “I must clean her up first and wrap her in a clean sheet.” Kasmira said as if dismissing the men from the room.

     “Still I will carry her down.” Ned reinterated. “Sir Dayne is injured.”

     “You will go down and swear your bannerman to secrecy and explain the situation.” Kasmira said with some force. She stepped to the lord and continued in a quieter tone. “The Knight has been more dedicated to that girl than you have of late, and maybe just maybe loved her more than you have during this war. She will forever be your sister in your crypts, this will be some of the last moments he will have to be with her as anything. If you understand anything of love or devotion, leave this task to him.”

     “She is my sister.” Ned whispered back, a little stunned to hear that Lyanna had become close to Arthur.

     “It was his arms that held her when she heard of her husband’s death on the Trident. His shoulder has soaked up many more of her tears than yours ever did. When she was broken, he was he salve.  He will carry her until you leave Starfall.”


	10. Starfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short time spent in Starfall.

     Ashara welcomed them as Ned would never have suspected, even Howland knowing he had dishonourably attacked her brother, after he was known to have sworn himself to the ruse of Jon Snow and his safety, she welcomed him warmly. 

     Ashara was portended to be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and she was of face, form and heart. She wore pearls in her hair, dark hair and they looked like stars in the night sky, her eyes were a brilliant blue, like sapphires and her lips as red as roses, all set against her alabaster perfect skin.  Ned did not know what had ever caused her to love him and wed him when she could have had any lord or knight in all of Westeros, but she had, and he had betrayed her. 

     She did not scowl at him or speak harsh hateful words to him, she did him a worse punishment, she treated him like he was the man she loved and was devoted to. She did not touch him or try to urge him to re-establish their martial engagements, she respected that he had forsaken her and married another. He had worried at first perhaps Catelyn’s words about Ashara had been true that he had only been a replacement for Brandon, but that only lasted until the second night of his stay at Starfall, when Jon had grown fussy – which was strange for Jon – and wanted to be walked to sleep.

     He was walking the baby who only seemed grumpy when Ned turned to return to his rooms, when he caught a glimpse of Ashara leaving Arthur’s rooms, she closed the doors and took maybe five steps then she sank to the floor in tears.

     “Eddard.”  She sobbed.

     Ned was at a loss of what to do. So, he watched the woman he loved sob until she had gained some control and got to her feet and moved on. Jon burbled as if to comfort his uncle. Ned looked down at his nephew and thought how this boy would never know either of his parents, never know how much they loved him, and Ned would never be able to tell Jon about them, or how much they had loved him.  His triplets would have Ashara to love them, but would she tell them about their father, would they ever know him, would he ever know them?

 

     The next day he sought her in the gardens as she collected flowers to place in her brother’s rooms.

     “My Lady.” Ned came forward. She turned to see him standing at the edge of her garden, wearing his northern three-quarter length coated leather armour, his hair half-tied back in the northern fashion.

     “No longer.” She said quietly, but he felt like she had hit him with Robert’s Warhammer.

     “I only meant…”

     “What do you wish, Lord Stark?”

     “I was simply checking on your welfare.”

    “Your sister’s body will be ready for transport in two days.  We have arranged for a ship to Kings Landing, I assume you will be attending your foster brother’s coronation.” She was speaking to him strangely as if he was just another lord, a guest in her home.

     “Ashara.”

     “Lord Stark, will there be anything else that House Dayne can do for you?” Her voice was cold and now she had turned to look at him he saw great grief on her face. “We are in your debt for returning the Sword of our House to us.”

     “Ashara, you look upset.”  He came forward into her garden to take her hands, she pulled them away and crossed them before her.

     “It is nothing to concern yourself with Lord Stark, House Dayne has simply had a loss.” She sounded distraught.

     “Arthur?” He could not believe Arthur had succumbed to his injury. Kasmira had said he would live and although this meant greater potential safety for Jon, he feared it also meant greater danger too.

     “No. My brother is healing, slowly but he will live.”

     “Then who?” Surely there would have been more commotion if Her eldest brother had passed.

     “My eldest son.” She said as she hastily turned and walked away as quickly as she could. Ned was stunned for a moment by her words.

     _Her eldest son?_ What did she mean? Then realisation dawned. _Our eldest son._ His eldest son was dead, and he hadn’t even gotten to meet him. Didn’t even know what Ashara had named him, if she had. The news rocked him more than he thought it would have, he had need to sit down as his knees threatened to desert him. Some minutes passed as he sat regaining his strength and he then questioned her words again, why had she said her son, not their son?  He needed to find Ashara to ask her, to comfort her, to mourn with her. Was that why she had collapsed the night before?

    

     In the end Ned went to Arthur’s room, knowing at some point Ashara would tend to her brother. Arthur did not look very happy to see him, whether it was him or that lately the two men had lost too many people they loved to be happy about anything, Ned could not tell. Arthur may just be angry about Ashara and the shame House Stark seemed to keep heaping on her.

     “You could have at least brought Aegon, if you were visiting.” Arthur said after several minutes of silence.

     “We must call him Jon.”

     “We must depose Robert and get him his crown so he can be called Aegon.”

     “Now is not the time Arthur, they would just kill him. I promised Lyanna I would protect him.”

     “I promised her something similar. I promised him something very similar.”

     “Well, you had better rest and heal then.” Ned could not imagine how Arthur planned to go north and not be recognised, or them not kill each other when he got there.

     “You would prefer I had died.” Arthur smiled at the thought he had annoyed a Stark.

     “I would prefer that you had talked Rhaegar out of taking Lyanna.” Ned answered coldly.

     “Lyanna went of her own will.”

     “Why?”

     “Because your beloved brother was a …” Ned turned to glare at Arthur, he may have seen the mistake of choosing Robert over Lyanna, but he still loved Robert and would not hear ill spoken of him. Arthur could see it too, the defensive hackles raising. “Robert is not the man you think.”

     “You do not know Robert.”

     “You did not know Rhaegar.”

     “He was married, and he betrayed his wife to … dishonour my sister.  He may have loved her and she him but,” Ned took a deep breath and ground his teeth. “He dishonoured her.”

     “He never did.  He annulled his marriage to Elia, you heard Lyanna, his name is Aegon Targaryen.  He is trueborn.”

     “He made Elia’s children bastards.” That flabbergasted Ned.

     “Truth is Rhaenys never was Rhaegar’s and it is highly unlikely Aegon was either.” Arthur sighed, what did it matter now if the truth was known, or the unknown spoken of.  Elia and her children were dead they died with names and honour intact, the truth could not change their claim.

     “What?!”

     “Elia was a princess of Dorne, if she needed to produce an heir and her husband was fond of her but not in love with her enough to bed her enough, she knew all she needed was a man’s seed. It did not have to be Rhaegar’s. With Rhaenys it wasn’t. With Aegon,” Arthur shrugged, “it may have been.  He did try, if only to keep Elia and Rhaenys safe from Aerys, but he was never sure.”

     Ned just blinked at the revelation. His strict Northern upbringing of honour and fidelity made this beyond his understanding. “Rhaegar did not know?”

     “He did not care. All he cared about was Lyanna and Jon.  Do you not wonder why he did not enter the Rebellion before the Trident? He was willing to escape to Essos and never see the Iron Throne again to be with your sister.  He only went there to give Lyanna time to escape with their son.”

     “I wondered how Robert was able to slay him.” Ned spoke low. “I found him.”

     “Robert?”

     “Rhaegar.”

     “What?”

     “I found Rhaegar after the Trident down the river a little. He was barely alive.”

     “What did you do?” Arthur sat up stiffly in bed ready to slay this man if he said he had killed his friend.”

     “Nothing. I couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t kill him. He told me Lyanna was in Dorne, he asked I don’t let Robert hurt her. He said anymore.” Ned stared into nothing as he relived his witnessing of Rhaegar’s death.  “Then I hid his body re-joined my men and went to meet Robert.”

     “What happened to his body?”

     “I went back after everyone was too drunk to notice and I built a pyre and burned it. I did not understand why I could not hate him, but even then, truth is I couldn’t.”

     “Why are you here, Ned?”

     “Your sister said her eldest son was dead.”

     “Rhyszard.”

     “Was that his name?” It was not a common name.

     “Yes, she named him for your father.” Arthur thought if Ashara was not going to talk to Ned about it maybe he should, especially after hearing what Ned did for Rhaegar.

     “I wonder what he was like.” Ned felt a drowning loss for this son he did not know. Wondered if Jon would fill the void, he felt growing.

     “She said his hair was dark like yours and his eyes were blue like hers and he was a happy joyful babe.  In his little trio he was the Leader of the Pack, a true Heir to Winterfell.”

     “Do you think Ashara would allow me to see the others?” Ned no longer sounded like a lord but like a boy wishing for something he doubted he would be worthy of.

     “You can only ask her.” Arthur felt compassion for Ned, he had watched the deep regret the man had when he gazed at his sister and from Arthur’s experience, Ned gazed at Ashara whenever she was in eyesight. “Is that why you are visiting me, to see Ashara?”

     “Well, it isn’t because I like you.”

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia was mystified. She was as usual watching the little life of the little king and his uncle was talking of death, but she had taken no babe from this castle. How was it Lord Stark was saying his eldest son was dead, when she had not reaped his soul? This needed investigation.  There was a dead infant, but it had died days before and not in this castle and his mother was not Lord Dayne’s sister. 

     There were foul workings afoot and they were done by men and they were blaming her! She was not impressed, but then Jon gurgled, and she went to look him over.  His eyes were blue again but that dark blue that babe’s eyes sometimes are, and they again seemed to be seeing her. 

 

* * *

 

     She opened the door to the room, draped he noted in grey and white, Stark House colours.  In the centre of the room were two wooden cribs, one twice the size of the other.  She walked over and stood beside the larger crib.

     “I placed Ellara in with Nicholas so they would not miss Rhyszard so much.” She said looking down with love as Ned slowly walked over to look down on his children, two more dark downy headed babes a few months elder than his nephew. He could already see their Stark features and how the little girl was going to be as beautiful as her mother one day and he felt pride well up in his chest at the sight of his children.

     “May I?” He asked nervously.  They maybe his children but he had forfeited any rights to them by marrying another woman, before other gods. _Not our Gods._   He wondered silently if that mattered. Did his Gods regard these as his children and only his marriage to Ashara as true, and the Seven Gods of Catelyn faith did the same of little Robb?

     “I cannot deny you some hours with your children before… they no longer are. You may hold them.” She walked to the door. “I will give you privacy.”

     “Ashara, we can…” He did not want her to leave.

     “No, we can’t.” She wore an expression of great sadness. “We are not a family, Ned. After you leave here, you will never come back for us.  I will raise you a son to be proud of and a daughter to be envied, but as much as I love you, I am not your wife as far as the realm is concerned and these are not your children. This will be your last time with them, and you should have as much as you can.”

     “Ashara.”

     “Always know Ned that Direwolves will roam the mountains in the south and howl at the same moon those in the north do, but they will never know their father other than the moments they have you for today.”

     “Ash, I.” He could not combat the forlorn look in her eye. 

     She came to place a hand on his cheek, brushing the silent tear away. “Keep us in your heart but out of your sight, so you can keep us safe. Lords Arryn and Tully were willing to burn the Seven Kingdoms to get what they wanted, they will not hesitate at the life of a disgraced lady and her twin bastards.” Ned’s face shot up to look at her shocked at her thoughts. “They have already taken one of my sons, I will not let them take Nicholas and Ellara.” She then bent his head and kissed it. “I will not be seeing you off tomorrow Lord Stark. I wish you luck in the wars ahead.”

     “The wars are over.”

     “No. There are many still to come, peace will not sit in the realm until Aegon sits on his throne.” She closed the door behind her and left Ned to the precious few hours he would have with his twins before he left them and his beloved wife forever.

 

     Arthur held his sister as she wept. His anger was explosive but it would not help her to release it.

     “Why did you not tell this to Ned?” It could have set things right between them, seen Lady Catelyn Tully removed from Winterfell.

     “How? I can not even prove it. Lord Holster was as slippery as ever. But I take solace in the knowledge that my son will still be Heir to Winterfell and her son is rotting at the bottom of the ocean where I threw him.” Ashara was smarter than some men knew, and definitely smarter than Lord Holster Tully, did he really think his red-haired grandson would not be noticed in her sons’ crib, they were twins! Identical twins, suddenly stop being identical? “One day Arthur I will have her know. Then brother the tears will be hers.  For now he will be raised by his father and that is most important.”

     “I will watch him for you Ash, when I go to guard my king I will watch over my nephew for you.”

     “Thank you, Arthur.”


	11. Anastasia Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anastasia dreams of a Man she does not yet know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the final episode I was feeling the need to remember the loveliness of Jonerys love.  
> Also ...  
> Even I am getting frustrated with how long this is taking. I seriously thought it would be much shorter and was not prepared for how much extra story would flow from my fingers to the keys.  
> A nice short and lovely interaction....  
> I hope.

     Lord Eddard stood gazing at the babe sleeping peacefully in a little makeshift crib.  He had been right, no one questioned him entering the Capital with an infant in his arms.  Many lords had left bastards along the war trail on both sides, Robert had left over a dozen alone. Few of those lords would take their bastards home, but people would not be amazed to learn Lord Eddard Stark had, only that he had fathered one.  Ned knew little of children and babies even less, but what he recalled of Benjen and Robert’s bastard daughter Mya Stone, Jon was an extremely quiet baby. He rarely fussed, and he had a way of calming the room, Ned did not know how.  Robert had ‘tsked’ at Ned for betraying Catelyn then hugged him with congratulations when he heard, because if Ned could arrange it, Robert would never see Jon.

     “Lord Stark, it is time to go to the false King’s Coronation.” Wylla said to move him away from the crib, the lord did not know it, but he had been standing gazing at the little king for two hours.

     _“Already?”_

     “Yes, if you are determined not to walk up the aisle and slay the false king so Aegon can rule or let me do it, you should go bend your knee to the Stag.”

     “Are you angry at me?” She did seem very angry.

     “I am disappointed men are still this weak.  No wonder Aegon had to be born. And yes, Stark I am angry at you, you should have known better, but you let your spirit sleep and followed a fool, making you a fool. Go before I kill you.”

     Lord Stark belted on his sword and his cloak, looking again to be a Lord of Westeros, and Warder of The North.  With a kiss to his nephew’s head and a whispered, “Forgive me.” Lord Eddard Stark left to see his foster brother crowned the King of the Seven Kingdoms, while the true King of the Seven Kingdoms took a nap.

     Wylla shook her head, and her ash blonde hair turned fire-red, and her eyes glowed wildfire green, and Kasmira stepped to her king.  “Sleep, your battles are to be many and you need to be rested.  Great many died in this Usurper’s War and they are harrowing Death in a procession I would wager.” 

     The babe drifted to sleep.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia was exhausted from the many dead from Robert’s campaign to regain his love, which she realised she had not heard him whisper prayers for Lyanna to be returned to him safe since Cersei had been gifted to him by Tywin Lannister like some trophy for tearing down the Targaryen dynasty. 

     So exhausted. She had never felt this fatigued before, and before she fell down, she took one last look at the babe Jon Snow. Sleeping like an angel. Anastasia went to The Blue and closed her eyes for a moment.

 

     Anastasia was on grass; it was dark like in The Black. She looked around and she was as always standing in a void of black, her dress and hair shined by Death’s light and she felt warm and rested and the exhaustion she had just experienced was gone.  Standing in front of her was a handsome man, with silky black waves of hair and warm brown eyes, but as she looked at the man, she realised it was only shadow because his eyes were silver-grey.  He smiled at her as if glad to see her.  He wore a neatly trimmed beard and his clothes were dark.

     _Another soul to help._ She thought, though this one was not wounded, and she did not recall watching his death.

     “Indeed.” He said and she recognised a thick northern accent, with a burr to it. It must be one of Lord Stark’s men, but his clothes seemed strange. He wasn’t wearing armour.

     “My name is …” She thought to introduce herself, though it was not her usual habit.

     “I know your name.” He said with a smile.

     “How could you?”

     “I know much about you.” His smile was disarming.

     “How could you?”

     “Would you like to go for a walk, Anastasia?” He asked and she desperately wished to agree, but Death’s Angel did not go for walks, she wasn’t allowed. “You can do anything you want.” He seemed to know her thoughts.

     “I have much to do.”

     “Like what?”

     “I have a duty.”

     “As do I, but duty is the Death of Love and hasn’t there been enough death for today?” He presented her his elbow so they might walk together.  She was not sure why, but she took his arm and started to walk with him.

 _I could be in big trouble for this._   She thought, after all she wasn’t allowed out.  She would be punished if she went out without permission and she would never get permission to go out with a handsome man.

     “I should really stay in.” She said looking back to see a house with a red door, and suddenly feeling great apprehension. _He will kill me._

     “I would like to go for a walk with you.” The man said, with the warmest voice she had ever heard, she felt almost like if he wished it, she must comply. “I will not let him hurt you, he will not even know you were gone.”

     “He knows everything.” She whimpered and leaned on his arm.

     “He does not, and you are safe in my keeping.” Again, he smiled, and she felt warmth spread through her.  He led her to a park full of colour and she was sure there was no such park in her area.  It reminded her of Life’s Paradise, just a tad more real and not so busy. So ‘not’ busy in fact there was no one else in the park.

     “Where are we?” She asked the man, looking around frantically.

     “We are in our garden.” He spoke calmly.

     “Our garden?” She had never had a garden of her own, not that she remembered.

     “You will understand.”

     “I should really get back.” She looked back towards where they had come and could not see the house with the red door. “I can’t see my house.”

 

* * *

 

     She looked around to see high stone walls, and the architecture of a castle. When she looked back at the man, his clothes had changed to be similar to those worn by Lord Eddard Stark, but sewn in black cloth.

     “My queen, are you alright.” He looked concerned by her anxiety.

     “Queen? I … Where am I?” She wasn’t sure where or when she was.  During her Duty which seemed so distant now, she had seen many varied worlds and times, but this was strange.

     “Springdawn.” He answered her, which answered nothing for her. “Are you feeling fatigued?”

     “Yes.” She was feeling fatigued; it must have been the long line of dead warriors.

     “Perhaps you should sit.” He led her to a bench, aiding her to sit. she was surprised to find him kneel before her and take her hands in his. “I worry for you, you are still weak from the Battle for King’s Landing.  That was a great fall, if Rhaegal had not caught you when Drogon was shot, you would be dead now.”

     “Drogon.” Who the Hell was Drogon?

     “He is healing well, it takes more than a harpoon to kill a Dragon, and Death would never steal your eldest child from you.  For such a small woman, you are terrifying.” He gave her a rare smile and chuckle at what she guessed was a joke.

     “Am I truly terrifying?” She smiled at him.

     “Well, I am terrified.” He looked up through some errant curls at his brow.  Anastasia was mesmerised by this handsome man and his eyes.

     “Be terrified, sir…” She didn’t even know his name.  His brows knitted for a moment, then he laughed at her as she smiled at him.

     “Oh, I am, my queen. Have I angered my queen?”

     “Why would you ask that?”

     “You have demoted me to a knight.”

     “Well, feel free to convince me to promote you, my lord.” She smiled widely, at this delightful man. His head went down as he tried to control his mirth at her words, when his head came up, he had a wide smile and his eyes sparkled with his joy.

     He let go of her hands and his hands came up to cup her face, hands rough from the work they had seen. Rough skin against her soft cheeks, the touch made shivers run down her spine, she closed her eyes as she savoured the paradox of the soft, gentle touch of his rough hands.

     “My queen.” His voice as with his hand was rough with his northern accent.  She was used to the smooth and cultured voices of men, as they spoke to her. Normally smooth voices telling her lies, this rough accented man, only ever spoke the truth to her, even when she wished he would lie. “If I have offended you, I am sorry. My life has only been warm since I found you.”

     “Found me?” She did not like the inference.

     “Since you found me then.”

     “Found you?” She liked that one just as little.

     “I was lost before you found me.” He did not smile, he just stared at her sincerely. He stretched up to kiss her lips with his.  His lips were cool on hers and she felt the heat of her anger abate.

     “You are a dangerous man.”

     “Says a terrifying woman like you.” He stood, then sat beside her and took her hands again.

     “You have too much control over my moods.”

     “Is that not why we work so well together. What is it Varys said, Melisandre said, she brought Fire and Ice together?”

     “I would have thought the reference to Ice would be abhorrent to you, what with our outstanding enemy.” Anastasia wondered what she meant by those words, but this man was close, and his scent alone had her disorientated.

     “Have you met you, my love?” His love? She liked the sound of that, the feel of it too. “I must do extra just to keep up with you. All those titles and achievements.”

     “You need do nothing; you have your own impressive list of titles.”

     “None as mighty as yours.”

     “Why are you always so humble?” Was he? She didn’t know the man, but she knew she was correct he was too humble.

     “Not humble, aware.” She raised and eyebrow at him and he knew he must explain. “My mother, my step-mother never let me forget what side of the sheet I was born.  I was sent to the Night’s Watch, to earn no glory.  How can I be vain?”

     “You are the most amazing man I have ever met.” This time her hands cupped his shaking head, his beard was soft against her palms and she suddenly remember it soft against other parts of her and she went red with embarrassment. Those memories were part of his amazing. What man does that? And so tenderly. Her hands dropped to the neck of his gherkin and started to fiddle with the knot that held it.

     His hands stopped her. “We are in a garden.”

     “Our garden.” She reminded him.

     “Your garden.” He reminded her. “Your Dothraki and Unsullied may not blanch at their queen being passionate with a Lord, but your Westerosi servants will have issue with it. Especially a famous Bastard.”

     “Former King.”

     “That is not going to matter.  They will ignore behind closed doors but not in broad daylight.”

     “Are you being coy?” She quirked her eyebrows at him and gave him a look that said she thought him adorable.

     “I am saving your reputation.”

     “Screw my reputation. I am Queen, I can molest any lord I like.” She did not like the idea someone would judge her for loving this man.

     “How many lords have you molested?” He sounded jealous. “It is none of my business. Sometimes allegiances must be made with marriage.”

     “I could agree to that.” She smiled but he did not.

     “You forget I am already an ally.” Anastasia was not sure why she did the next thing she did, and she so wanted to beg apology straight away, but the Queen in her didn’t.  Before she knew it, she hauled her right hand back and slapped the lord hard across the face. “What the…?” He sat back in shock.

     “It seems my lord we are at odds, would you care to discuss our differences and forge a possible alliance? I hear the best ones are with marriage.” Rubbing his jaw, he smiled at her wit.

     “No.” He answered with a flash of fire in his voice.

     “Excuse me?” She had not expected him to refuse her.

     “I will not marry a mad woman who thinks violence is a solution to her problems.  When I am betrothed, I will get down on bended knee and ask for myself not be forced into it for politics.” She found his offense amusing and had to bite her lip to not smile at him.

     “For the good of your people.” She pulled herself together to have an adult conversation.

     “My people will follow me into hell, so they would not ask it of me.”

     “So, I slapped you for nothing. Except to hurt my hand.” She cradled it and was about to cry, not for the hand but the thought he did not want her as a wife.  He took her hand tenderly and held it softly between his.

     “Does that help?” He smiled at her.

     “No, you just broke my heart.” She whimpered, which she felt may not have been in character for her.

     “Oh, you are tougher than that.” He answered her without pandering. “I must go check on your Dragons.” He rose and bowed to her. “I will send Missandei to help you to your tent.”

     “My lord.”

     “My Queen.” He turned, to see what she required of him.

     “My hand hurts, could you possibly kiss it better?” She raised it as if a pet with a burr in its paw. “Would propriety allow the lord to kiss his queen’s hand?” He sighed and walked back to her, he brought his lips to her injured hand and kissed it to make it better. She grabbed his face and kissed a line along his jaw. “I will ease your hurt too.” He twisted his head slightly and her lips were captured by his. His lips were soft, but his kiss was firm; his tongue skated across her lower lip making her shiver. Her hands wound themselves in the knot of hair at the back of his head as his hands cradled the back of her head to stop her escaping his kiss, which she was not doing. His other arm snaked around her back to her opposite hip to pull her up and into his arms, holding her close.

     Again, her hands went to his neck to open his shirt and this time he did not stop her but with his right arm holding her to his chest she did not have much movement. She clawed at his clothes and as his left hand left her hair to go to her own collar, then his hand and arm disappeared, and she was kissing air.

     “Still in a garden, your grace.” He stepped back.

     “Do I have to slap you again?” She said threateningly.

     “Terrifying.” He chuckled as he walked away.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia woke to a gurgle, as the baby king giggled. She looked across the veil to see his happy little face and dark blue eyes gazing at her. She received what she guessed maybe his first smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My endgame will not change even with season eight.  
> We are going for something greater. Not than GRRM, but greater than ASOIAF. Truly Canon Divergent.


	12. The False King is Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert is crowned and Ned is given more mysteries and questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Eddard's part of the journey in some part.

     Lord Eddard stood watching as the High Septon lowered the crown upon Robert’s head. A new crown for a new dynasty, antlers rather than flames. Cersei sat by Robert’s side, his queen now he was king. Ned had left Jon with Wylla to watch his foster brother coronated. As much as he believed the crown and throne would never be Jon’s he thought it an insult to have the babe at this event, and it was an event. Tywin Lannister had paid a fortune to tell the Realm it was safe, but really to say he was in control.

     At the great feast Ned saw the restraint in Robert’s eyes as he ignored the serving girl’s tantalising cleavage, Ned was proud Robert was staying true to his wife. Though by the sweat dripping from Robert’s brow that may not be for long. Ned sighed heavily, wasn’t Cersei beautiful enough to keep him loyal? That made him wonder if Robert would have been loyal to Lyanna, now he contemplated his knowledge of Robert he knew he would not have been. Ned thought that Cersei would be headed for heartbreak if she thought Robert would be loyal to her. Ned remembered something Rhaegar had said at Harrenhall: " _Robert my cousin you embody your House’s emblem, a Stag. You are always ready to rut."_ Robert had roared with laughter and replied he was the King of the Wood.  Ned had worried for Robert as King Aerys was in attendance, but Rhaegar just shook his head sadly. Rhaegar was correct though, Robert was always ready to rut, and any doe would do, his foster brother appreciated the female form, highborn or low; large or small; beautiful or homely; even clean or filthy.

     Ned silently kicked himself for putting Robert before Lyanna. He had naively thought the man he considered like a true brother was a perfect match for his sister. She had argued he would betray her at every opportunity, that her life would be filled with his baseborn children.  She flat out told Ned she did not and would not love Robert like that. He had thought she was being stubborn; Robert had her laughing at his jokes often, how could she not be in-love with Robert?

     Now he thought back to Harrenhall he also remembered Lyanna, his tomboy sister, listening to the harp of Crown Prince Rhaegar, and the small sighs of delight at the music he made. Maybe Ned should have taken more notice. Seen how happy she was for Rhaegar to listen to her and how disgusted she was by Robert’s methods. He should have kept a closer watch.

     Too often he was looking at the ‘most beautiful girl in the realm’, Ashara Dayne.  Every man and lad was trying to catch her eye, and Ned loitered at the edges of the crowds, following either Brandon or Robert. Lyanna had said he should be brave and take the hunt to her, but he hadn’t and then Brandon had been Brandon and Ashara had been broken by him.  Arthur had been livid wanted to feast on Direwolf liver, but while Brandon fled, Ned took the opportunity to sneak in and apologise to find a distraught girl who knew exactly who he was.  That had surprised him, what surprised him more was apparently all those times he thought Ashara was being dazzled by his elder brother, she had been trying to get to know him instead.  She had cried that now she was ‘ruined’ because Brandon had tricked her.  Brandon had said Ned was a fool but by the time he and Robert were headed back to the Eyrie, he was a man secretly wed to the most beautiful girl in all the Seven Kingdoms.

     Ned was just contemplating returning to his nephew, when Robert appeared in front of him dragging his queen and a serving girl.  He had Cersei by the elbow and the serving girl by her rump.

     “Drink with me, Ned! Don’t make me make it a royal decree.”  Robert belched, then laughed his hearty laugh. He couldn’t refuse but he also couldn’t be too drunk to make it home.

     “Anything for my king.” Ned replied as the cup before him was filled with wine.

     “Good because I have things to celebrate. Cersei is bearing me a son. A trueborn son.” Ned looked at the girl that was queen, she looked uncomfortable. It was like Robert to automatically assume every child would be a son. “The throne has an heir.” Robert had no idea how right he was.

 

 

     “Why Lord Stark after you fought so hard by your king’s side, do you not stay in the Red Keep?” Eddard turned to see the golden queen, Cersei Lannister. She was beautiful and Robert had replaced his sister with a polar different beauty but a beauty none the less.

     “Your Keep is full of many other Lords, I doubt Robert has missed me.”

     “So long as our king has a naked woman, I have found he doesn’t miss anyone.” The queen said with a tinge of anger.

     “Your grace…” Ned had no idea what to say to the girl who was Robert’s queen and wife.

     “How many women did our king bed on the war trail?”

     “That was prior to your marriage your grace.”

     “It was.” She smiled, “Tell me Lord Stark, how did you justify watching the man that went to war to regain the love of his life - your sister - rut his way through every female he passed?” She watched the conflict cross his face. “Or did it not occur to you?”

     “Robert has always had his,” Ned took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “appetites.”

     “How easy it is for men to explain it away.  Tell me Lord Stark, has Robert asked you about your sister yet?”

     _What was Cersei up to?_ The unfortunate truth was Robert had not asked after Lyanna when Ned returned without her riding behind him, too drunk celebrating.  Stannis had come and asked for Robert, and sourly said they needed to know if the Lannister wedding would be continuing.  Stannis was as disappointed in his brother as Eddard had been. Not that it mattered, Robert had already wed the girl, so he could bed her. “No.”

     “Of course not.” Cersei smiled and walked away, “He was more interested in Rhaegar than Lyanna in the end and that is how it will always be.”

 

     When Lord Eddard returned to the small room in the small inn, he was greeted by Wylla and in her hand a message with a black wax seal but no impression. Who would send him a message here? Wylla simply handed it to him and pointed at the fire.

     “After you read it, burn it.”

 

 

>      Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of The North.
> 
>           I regret to have heard of my good-daughter’s death.  You have my condolences. I understand you have my grandson, Aegon.  I understand you are taking him North to protect him. I appreciate your service.  I hope one day my children will get to meet him. I wish to apologise for the murder of your father Lord Rickard, he was a dear friend and my heart broke at his demise. Always the Iron Throne has depended on The Starks of Winterfell and their support and it still does.  Take care of Aegon, he is a true hope to our House.
> 
>           I also wish to ask a boon of you, though I know you have no reason to give it. Soon I will birth my child and if that child should be a daughter, I wish her to be betrothed to Aegon.  I understand you may have doubts but please understand our family has secrets that mean Aegon will not be wedding his aunt, if I should birth a daughter. Please if you really are loyal to him, consider this for me.
> 
>      Dowager Queen Rhaella Targaryen.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  

     “Like Hell!” Ned exclaimed and woke Jon with a start and set him to crying.

     “Burn it.” Wylla suggested.

     “She wants Jon to marry her daughter if she has one.” Ned said to explain his outburst. “Their House has secrets. What does she mean?”

     “Rhaegar was born at Summerhall. Princess Rhaella gave birth to her first-born son at Summerhall.”

     “I know that. Everyone knows that.”

     “That does not mean Rhaegar was that son.”

     “What?” The woman wasn’t talking sense.

     “Rhaella’s cousin, Crown Prince Duncan’s daughter was also with child, she did not make it.”

     “Burnt with the rest of them.”

     “Yes and no. She burnt, but she died because Tywin Lannister cut her womb open. Jaeherys was to be king, but if he was Aegon the Unlikely’s youngest son, a grandson of his eldest brother would have been rightful heir to the throne. But he wasn’t, well he was, but he wasn’t. Still a Targaryen, just not born of incest and therefore his son… not related to Aerys’ children.”

     “Seriously?” Ned felt like the world had turned on its head.

     “Believe, don’t believe.” Wylla shrugged. “Point is Rhaella found out it was possible and believes it. Only Tywin, Aerys and Jaeherys really know. Or knew. Tywin is here in King’s Landing; you could ask him.”

     “Do you believe?” She had introduced herself as a Dragonguard of the Crown Prince, did she know?

     “I believe it does not matter.  Jon has a great destiny and it will be.  I do not believe the child that grows in Rhaella’s womb will marry our king.” She shrugged as she left the room, knowing she may have broken Lord Stark’s faith in the world he thought he knew.  Truth was she did know which way it was, but as she had said, it did not matter.

 

     Ned had to know, he was unsure why, but he had to ask.  He saw Robert’s Father-by-law and approached him. As usual Tywin was in gold and red, with a great lion on his arm and chest, and he stank of authority and arrogance.

     “Lord Lannister.”

     “Lord Stark.”

     “I wished to bid the king farewell, but he is currently sleeping in with his beautiful queen, your daughter.” Ned wasn’t so sure it was Cersei but hoped. “Perhaps you can pass it on.” It was a menial task and by Tywin Lannister’s feature he was offended, by the request.

     “I am not a messenger.”

     “I am aware it is just I can not find Lord Arryn to ask him and you are his good-father, I surmised you would see him.” Tywin was unsure how to take this Northern friend of Robert’s, he seemed less like the other lords of the realm, with his honour, but that had been why Rickard Stark had to go, and Aerys was more than accommodating with that.

     “I will tell someone to tell him.” Tywin would not run a message, but he would delegate.

     “How strange this new world must be to you, Lord Tywin.  I imagine as a youth you thought you would be standing at Aerys side forever.  Helping him mould his son into a great king.”

     “Yes.”

     “Now your daughter is queen, to a quite dissimilar man to Rhaegar.”

     “Lord Stark you do not seem as angry as I would have thought at Prince Rhaegar.” Tywin assessed Ned.

     “My sister is dead; his damage is done, and Robert gave me my vengeance when he killed him.  His influence is over.  You ensured his children would not bother us.” Tywin smiled at this simpleton lord, thinking it was that simple.

     “I mean it is not like there is anyone to seek vengeance for his death.” Tywin’s smile dropped and Ned caught it. “His father is dead, and Stannis says soon Dragonstone will fall, who would wish blood for Rhaegar’s death now?” By his expression Tywin could think of someone, maybe the husband of the woman he split open at Summerhall? “You were at his birth were you not?”

     “I was camped outside of the castle when the tragedy occurred.”

     “Were there many Targaryens who made it outside before they died?”

     “I do not wish to recall that night.”

     “My father said the Prince of Dragonflies was celebrating quite hard he heard, he and his wife, Jenny of Oldstones.”

     “Yes, they were to be grandparents.” He was sounding uncomfortable.

     “Was their good-son in attendance?” The question got Tywin’s head to snap to Ned.

     “What did your father tell you?” Tywin seemed very interested in the answer.

     “This and that.” His father had only spoken once of Summerhall, and it was to lament while drunk one night that ‘much was lost to many realms, that night’.

     “Did he threaten to come back? Your father said he would dissuade him from coming back south.”

     “Who Lord Tywin?” Was there a Northern Lord who lost a wife at Summerhall?

     Lord Tywin must have realised Ned was fishing and smiled again. “No one of consequence, I suppose his communication with the Seven Kingdoms was deprived of him with your father’s execution.” Seven Kingdoms? Who would come south into the Seven Kingdoms? Only Wildlings and legends of giants lived north of The Wall. “Did you not say you were departing Lord Eddard?” Tywin smiled with satisfaction.

     “Yes.  Do tell a servant to bid Robert farewell, I sail on the tide.”  Ned wasn’t sure what he had learnt, but he was not sure of anything anymore.  His understanding of the world crashed when Lyanna asked him to protect her son Aegon from Robert.  He turned and walked away, wondering to himself why he had gone to ask Tywin Lannister these questions. Jon would never be king. Probably never know his real name, so what did it matter what happened at Summerhall?  Robert was king, long may he reign.

 

     Wylla walked onto the ship with the little king in her arms, turning to show him the city behind them.

     “Remember, this is your city. That is your Keep and these are your people. You will return to them all one day.” She would say his crown and throne, but he would wear no Usurper’s crown, and she had a feeling this Aegon would not like the Iron Throne. “Oh, look Jon here comes your Usurper.” She watched Robert walk quickly down the pier. “Lord Stark!” She called to the man who had just left the deck. When Ned walked back onto the deck, she pointed at the impending visitor.

     “Take Jon below.”

     “Ned! Did you think to slink out?” Robert’s voice was loud.

     “You were recovering.” Robert caught his friend in a bear hug, over Ned’s shoulder he caught sight of the woman hurrying down below. “Is that the bastard?” Ned winced at Robert’s words, but nodded to continue his lie and keep his promise. “I should see him.”

     Panic ran through Lord Stark’s mind at that declaration. “See him your grace?”

     “Yes, tell him about how he is very lucky to be alive, Lord Eddard Stark was hard to seduce I would wager. Bring him out and give us a look.”

     “He is sleeping your grace and the wet nurse is putting him to bed. Now is not a good time.”

     “Good time? Ned it could be years before I see you again, they have tied me to this city with this damned crown.” Ned looked up at the crown sitting haphazardly on Robert’s head.

     “You seem to be making a break for it.” He said with a smile, he was going to miss the time and years he had spent with Robert.  They had to grow up now though and try to put this realm they had ripped apart back together again.

     “I will miss ya, Ned.”

     “I will miss you too Robert.”

     “Kiss that wife of yours, and that son you named after me too.”

     “I will not see them for a while. Robb has been sickly, and Catelyn is not travelling to Winterfell immediately.”  He had received a raven when he arrived, He had worried when he read it, worried because he thought of another woman with an empty pillow in a cot. Would Robb share Rhyszard’s fate?

     “Good fortune King Robert.”

     “Good Fortune Lord Eddard.” Robert left the ship and watched as the men of the Stark ship pushed off. “Ned!” Lord Stark went to the side of the ship. “Stannis broke Dragonstone.  The Old Dragoness is dead.  Her spawn got away, but I have ships in pursuit. Soon every Dragon will be dead!”

     Ned smiled and waved as if that was great news. Internally he cringed, not every Dragon and although Rhaella’s children were nothing to him, he wished them safety. “What did she birth? A Son or a Daughter?!”

     “A girl!”

     A girl.  Rhaella’s message came back to him: If I should birth a daughter… Aegon … betrothed.  Jon could not marry this girl. There would be no explaining it. Unless Robert thought it punishment for her to wed a bastard. _What am I thinking? They will never even meet._   He feared that maybe because the girl would not survive Robert’s assassins.

 

 


	13. Another Mother Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anastasia watches another Dragon born and her mother die.  
> Arthur is almost ready to serve.  
> Ned has joy and sorrow again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry much longer than I thought.  
> If it seems I am churning them out I am not, just polishing some stuff and posting from time of long absence.  
> May also need to work through some disappointment with finale of show.  
> Still determined to stay with my ending and not be effected by Season 8.

     “This is a sad day.” Her duty kept her so busy she rarely seemed to have a break and when she did, she found herself watching a little boy with a black mop of curls, but The Guide looked desolate.

     “Why?” Why was today any different from any other when a thousand, thousand people died?

     “A death, close to our hearts.” The Guide moved their vision to a room in a cold castle being buffeted by strong gales and pelting rains.

 

* * *

 

     Another mother in the midst of birthing pangs, this one older, tired from a violent traumatic life, weaken by the torture of her life. However, this woman had a strength Anastasia admired for a fire burned deep within her and it stood resilient against the buffeting it had received. The servants were cowering in corners, whispering how this was the worse Storm that had hit the isle in a thousand years.  How the Queen’s child would forever be known as Stormborn.

     Anastasia watched this woman; she had no knight to comfort her as Lyanna had been blessed with Arthur; no love of the man who had impregnated her. She had something though, something deep like the fire Anastasia could feel, but it was powerful, and it was eternal. She believed in something, something she had never been allowed to experience.

     “I am Blood of the Dragon and I will not be cowed.” She said through gritted teeth.

  

* * *

 

     “Let her go or come as it is.” The Guide spoke with a softness he had rarely shown.

     “Her children need her Xan, they have no one.”

     “She has suffered enough Anastasia. A lifetime of pain and humiliation. As much as she loves her children, she needs to be cared for herself.”

     “Do you think dying has changed her husband that much that he will go from being her tormentor to her protector?” Anastasia did not believe it, King Aerys was insane and had no care for his wife.

     “Anastasia why do you assume Rhaella will spend her perpetuity with Aerys?”

     “He was her husband.”

     “Her husband, yes but not the one who secured her heart.” Xan smiled at Anastasia’s mistake.

     “Of course.” Anastasia nodded. “The man she loved but was forced to forfeit.” _Sir Bonifer Tarry, the Hedge Knight of the Reach._   She smiled to think Rhaella in death would have the love she was refused in life.

     “Let her see her daughter then take her life.” Xan said coldly.  

  

* * *

 

     “The princess is dead.” The man said to the knight and the queen.

    “Let me see her.” The queen commanded with all the regal authority she could. The little girl was placed in her arms, wrapped in Targaryen red silk. Rhaella, Dowager Queen of the Seven Kingdoms took a fortifying breath.

     “My Queen we must see to your bleeding.” The man interrupted her. “Else we will lose you too.” He said looking at Sir William Darry.

     “I am of no consequence. I am an old woman, too old to be birthing any child and too widowed to carry another. My children are what is important.”  She knew Sir Darry was only awaiting this birth and a still in the storms to ferry them away to Essos and ‘safety’. She would laugh but it would hurt.  It had been decades since Rhaella was ever safe.  She had to hope the future would be carried by babes to young to walk, for she knew she was a crippled Dragon, even if she lived, she should be left to give her children speed of escape.

 

* * *

 

     “The baby girl has died before her mother; how can I take her mother to save her.”

     “She has been dead a few days.  You sent her on, without thought.” Xan answered as if it meant nothing.

     “Then how?” Anastasia stared dumbfounded at The Guide as he watched dispassionately.

     “I will go get her.”

     “Can you do that?”

     “I am not Death, no.”

     “Can I do that?” He hadn’t mentioned this ability before.

     “No.”

     “Xan!”

     “Do you need a few minutes in The Blue, Anastasia?”

     “I need explanation.”

     “You seem tense.” The Guide looked her over with concern. Then he flashed out of her view.

 

**“I need your permission to do something, Brother.” The Guide stared into Death’s calm blue eyes. Death said nothing, just held his younger brother’s gaze waiting for the request before he made a decision. “I need to resurrect Daenerys Targaryen, so she can grow and bring glory to her House again one day.” Xan took a deep breath. Death did not resurrect people lightly. Death was very protective of the souls he kept. The blue eyes appeared to ebb in their glow as he considered his brother’s request.  Xan was just about to explain why he had asked this boon when the eyes focused upon him again and Death gave his permission and parameters: Daenerys Targaryen would pay for this life with her own ability to give life. She would only ever carry one child, before her final death that would return her soul to The Black.  Xan did not think this would be enough, but Death did not barter. Death never bartered.  If he discussed he had already decided what you were going to ask him for and what he was giving you. “Thank you.”**

 

     Anastasia was tense, so tense she skipped her mind away from this scene having it paused where Queen Rhaella was taking her first looked at her daughter, dead daughter. Anastasia wasn’t entirely sure why that power worked, or if she was just stretching her own time.  Her mind wandered south to the sea-edge castle Starfall to check on Sir Arthur.

 

* * *

 

     “Take them south and then across the Narrow Sea.  I am trusting you Darkstar.”

     “You know you can.” A youth with familiar features assured Arthur. The lad had distinctive hair of silver with a streak of black. He looked to be a boy of little more than ten years, but his purple eyes - similar to Arthur’s but harder – spoke of more experience than he should have. A great deal of hatred too, at first Anastasia thought this hatred was for Arthur but if it was why was he following Arthur’s commands.

     “I know so long as a Lannister does not cross your path I can.”

     “Or a Baratheon.  I would slay them like a pig as well.” The lad sneered.

     “Gerold, you should control this wrath you have.”

     “In fact, I think that would be a fitting end to our false king, gored by a boar.” He smirked and Anastasia felt a shiver run down her spine. “I must ask if that is the way he is taken.”

     “Ask?”

     “The Old Gods.”

     “Forget this vendetta for now, get my sister and the twins to safety. I must leave for the North as soon as I am able, and I trust no one else to watch them.”

     “I will forget it, but only for now, and only because you are The Sword.”

     Having secured the youth’s agreement Arthur sat back stiffly, he needed to get out of this castle and on the road to his king.  The maester was being over cautious he thought, his only injury had been a knife in the neck and through his throat, the man was just stressing because he should be dead. Or paralysed.  He wasn’t either and his little king was in danger every minute they were apart.  The Dragonguard had sent ravens saying Catelyn Tully was a danger to the king, she had arrived with hate in her heart.

 

* * *

 

     Knowing the Knight was safe and healing, she turned her chaotic mind to the only true calm she found outside The Blue. North. Far North, to the top of the Seven Kingdoms, to Winterfell.  She passed the commonfolk, passed the lords speaking to their lady, to the Godswood and the great red leafed tree and a Northman who rarely smiled anymore, but he smiled now.  Two little dark-haired babes rolled in the snow, and they looked joyous at the cold.  The little boys were too small to do anything much but roll around. The elder boy made little happy sounds at his father, the younger was silent and suddenly stopped rolling to stare at something Anastasia could not perceive.  He still looked like a little angel, perfect and beautiful.  His black hair had grown in thickness and length and now defined little curls could be seen; his lashes were thick and long framing his silver eyes.

     “What are you looking at Jon?” Lord Eddard asked as he came to the still child.  “Can you see a Child of the Forest over there?” Jon continued to stare at whatever had his attention then his eyes slowly looked around and stopped where Anastasia would be standing if she was on his side of the veil, his eyes met hers and he gurgled joyfully as if saying ‘Hail’ before moving to gaze at his uncle.

     “Why do you tell them such tales?” Catelyn’s voice cut into the happy scene and wiped the smile from her husband’s face. “You put little Robb’s soul in danger, The Mother will not smile on a child that grows up in this blasphemy.”

     “Neither Robb nor Jon’s souls are in danger from being here.” Ned answered as he looked at the happy babes wiggling in the soft snow enjoying themselves immensely.

     “We should extend the Sept of the Seven, it is too small to show them the glory and reverence they deserve.”

     “It doesn’t even exist yet.” The northmen of the castle had been working on converting an unused gallery into a Sept for their new Lady, but the Septon that arrived with Catelyn had taken one look and demanded they do it properly.  His attitude had the commonfolk of the castle offside, his idle insult of their Faith had slowed their wish to build anything for him or Catelyn.  Everyday he heard complaints that they already had the greatest Godswood in the North, why did they need a Sept?  Declarations that if she didn’t like it, she could just leave little Lord Robb and go home to Riverrun.  Ned sighed as he looked at Robb who bore such a marked resemblance to Nicholas, Faith had been no issue with Ashara. The Lord of Winterfell frowned and scooped up his son and nephew as his emotions overwhelmed him.  He deposited Robb in Catelyn’s arms and headed to the Crypts with Jon. “There, save your son from our peoples heathenism.”  He growled as he left her alone with the child in the dark forest that did not welcome her.

     Catelyn had wished to suggest now was the time for progress, but her husband was a man stuck in the ancient beliefs of his backwards people. She looked at Robb, he had her blue eyes, she smiled and then frowned as she remembered they were Ashara’s blue eyes, not hers. “Why must these people think First Men blood is anything to be proud of?  They were barely more than savages when we Andals crossed the Sea to civilise them.” Robb quirked an eyebrow as if questioning his mother’s opinion. “We are going to civilise this castle and these people and your father.  We are going to start with getting rid of this Godswood and replacing it with real gods.”

     Catelyn Stark jumped as a growl came from the edge of the wood, some beast had entered the castle through this forsaken place. The brush at the edge of the clearing that held the sacred place began to shake as something moved through it. The lady clutched her babe to her.  A beast did not part the shrubs, a grubby dishevelled child entered the clearing and his face bore a snarl.

     “Oh Gods, a wildling!”

     “Real Gods.” He growled at her menacingly. The Lady of Winterfell screamed for aid and within minutes men of the castle were rushing to defend her, brandishing weapons to drive off the Wildling. She was surprised to see them immediately sheath their weapons upon seeing the boy.

     “Snow.” They said as they shook their heads and departed, only the visiting Lord Umber remained. Lady Catelyn was of the opinion that Jon Umber did not like her very much, his reactions to her had been negative across the board, he did not speak to her, rather he tended to humph at her or talk to Eddard and ignore her completely.

     “Thank you for staying Lord Umber.” She thought maybe he was warming to her.

     “Come boy, before the Lady drowns you.” He said to the wild child. “My sister would beat me senseless if I saw harm come to her tiny one.” Then he held his arms out to the boy and beckoned him to come forward and away from Catelyn.

     “Lord Umber! I am your Lady. I demand your respect.” She reprimanded him.

     “You are not my Lady.” He turned cold eyes to her.

     “I am your Lord’s wife!”

     “By a false marriage, by False Gods.  Only now that his true wife has gone to our Gods will your marriage make you our Lady, but only after the allotted grieving time. You are lucky we do not call your son, Snow.” Then he turned and left her standing in silence.

 

     Lord Eddard Stark stood before the newly installed statue of his sister Lyanna in the crypts, he had insisted she be laid there, and Brandon too.

     Jon touched the stone face of the woman he would never know. A woman he would never even understand the sacrifice of.  His little hand simply having a sensation of cold stone, not the warm flesh he should.  Ned wished Jon could have the warmth of a living mother, a real father’s strength of arm, but Ned was all Jon would ever have as parents went and even then he could not be very warm with the boy as Catelyn had already shown a jealous streak in regard to him.  He hoped she would warm to the baby as he was hard not to love, he was a delight to be around.

     Then Ned’s head bent in sorrow, he wished to place another statue here, of another woman. Arthur Dayne had sent word through his maester that Ashara was so desolate over her shame and loss of her son that she had thrown herself to the waves below Starfall.  He placed Jon on the ground of the crypts as he sank to his knees, his first love was dead and as much as others would not say it, it was House Stark’s fault.  The maester had said the twins had been sent away to be raise away from the tragedy of their beginnings. Jon would never know his parents and now neither would Nicholas and Ellara. Would they even be told they were Direwolves? He did not have any idea where they had been sent and the maester did not give detail either.  

  

* * *

 

     “Anastasia.” The Guide had returned, and he had a baby in his arms. She was beautiful with whisps of silver hair and amethyst eyes, Anastasia smiled down at her.

     “Is this the princess?”

     “Yes, Death has given his deal, she will live.” Anastasia wonder why this girl was so important to Xan. She would have asked except he did not seem talkative.

     “You saw Death?” That was new, wasn’t he supposed to be missing?

     “Yes.” Xan did not look thrilled. “The price was high.”

     “Is he close? Death, is he close?” Maybe her Duty was almost done.

     “He is always close for me, but you have a while left to spend with us.” He smiled.

 

* * *

 

     Rhaella pulled back the silk to look upon her daughter’s face, so perfect and small. She wished she could have lived, but she had lost children before and she would tackle this loss as all the others.  Then the baby blinked giving a glimpse of amethyst eyes.

     “She is alive.” The queen declared. “Get Viserys so he may meet his sister.” _House Targaryen will live._ Rhaella had not had the blind insane faith of her husband about their House’s destiny.  She had watched it wither, with only Rhaegar for a light.  But Rhaegar was dead and now all that was left of his flame was a baby she had never seen, though guessed had his mother’s features else he could not be hidden in The North.

 

>      “Every knee will bend.” Aerys had said.  He spoke at length of Aegon’s potential.  Had looked at Elia’s Aegon and sworn. “What is this?! This is not Aegon!”  No matter what anyone said he refused to call the silver prince Aegon. Because according to him, “No one will bend the knee to that whelp!” The queen wondered what Aerys would have said if he saw Lyanna’s Aegon, would he be pleased?

     “If Lord Stark grants me my boon, you will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

     “When she marries me Mother?” Viserys asked as he entered to look lovingly at his tiny sister. “When I am King.”

     “Your grace, you have lost a lot of blood we must staunch it somehow.” The maester said, moving the suddenly worried Viserys away.

     Rhaella’s vision started to blur and she felt weak all of a sudden.  Everyone started to get darker. “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” She said with as much strength as she could before The Blackness took her.

 

     Rhaella stood before Death’s Angel renewed but she looked sad.

     “I am…”

     “Dear girl, may you tell me, have my children escaped the Baratheon siegers?” Anastasia looked quickly to the world to see Sir William Darry rowing the young royals away.

     “Yes.”

     “Good.” The woman looked around the tunnel and as usual found nothing but was not disappointed by it.

     “Would you like to see anything before you move on?”

     “No, most of the things I ever loved are dead.”

     “Would you like to see Aegon?” Anastasia knew Rhaella had hopes of Aegon taking Daenerys as his wife and rebuilding their House.

     “No. I can influence nothing there.” Rhaella seemed content to stand and not move.

     “Shall we just move on then?”

     “No, I have no wish to start my eternity with Aerys.” Anastasia was at a loss to how to help this woman. Maybe The Guide could help.  She turned to beckon him from wherever he hid and saw a man standing in The Black, not one she was expecting. He was tall with dark hair and soft grey eyes, he wore armour of a type she knew and his colours were grey and white.

     “I would have thought you had spent enough time with that madman to last you eternity.” He spoke with a rough northern accent but a cultured tone.

     “Rickard?” The Queen’s eyes lit up with joy. “I thought never to see you again, friend.”

     “I kept a chair by my hearth for you, in the event you wished to converse with a level-headed man for a change.” He smiled a warm and honest smile.

     “I would think you would be drinking by that hearth with Bonifer.”

     “He is not here Rhae, he is still over there. Mourning his losses and wishing to see his descendants. Her death nearly drove him as insane as your brother, his wrath has kept him alive.” He frowned at his words.

     “Rickard, I had no idea…”

     “Shall we go sit and talk?” He stepped forward to offer his queen an arm to lean on.

     “I would love that.”  She smiled contentedly up at her old friend.

 

     “I thought you said she was going to spend her time with Bonifer Tarry?”

     “Bonifer Tarry was never a real person, only an alias.”

     “For Lord Stark?” Surely not, people would have known.

     “No, for someone else. But Rickard was the only friend that made Rhaella feel secure.  He will take care of her, as he always did.” The Guide walked away smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.


	14. Catelyn Tully Stark and the Little King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn Tully is not happy Ned brought a beautiful baby boy home from the War and tries to rid herself of this angel often.  
> Jon however has his own Angel watching out for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always disliked Catelyn Tully Stark.  
> Expect no mercy from me for her.  
> Just a quick montage to show why Anastasia hates Catelyn so much.

     The common folk had lined up to meet their new Lady of Winterfell when she arrived. Eager to see the Riverlands woman two of their Heirs to Winterfell had found to marry.  Some of the older servants like Old Nan knew this girl was not Eddard’s choice, was not the woman his heart desired.  Northerners are insular people they do not like strangers, more they do not trust them.  Usually the Heir or Lords of Winterfell married girls of Northern descent, this girl was not one of them and they did not welcome her freely.

     Lady Catelyn had not taken well to her lord husband returning with a baby boy conceived during war.  She at first had worried he was little Robb’s twin from Ashara Dayne, but their colouring was different; and Jon was younger than Robb, so it was another woman. Anastasia had heard Lady Catelyn’s prayers for the babe’s death after she was informed of his existence and that her husband was returning with him to Winterfell.  As Lady Catelyn made her way to Winterfell her prayers became more frequent, and once she arrived and saw the boy, they became daily.  But Anastasia would not heed them and watched the little darling grow.  She had watched Lady Catelyn treat him like an unwanted dog as well.

 

     It was disturbing how beautiful the bastard infant was sleeping in his crib. She wanted him to have some disfigurement or feature that illustrated the misdeed of his conception. He was absolutely not supposed to look like a little sleeping angel. She should not have been surprised Lord Eddard’s trueborn sons were both beautiful babes, her Robb and that whore Ashara Dayne’s whatever she had called her son before Cate’s father had taken him from Starfall and left her poor little dead Robb in his place.

     Catelyn wondered if Ashara had noticed the differences between the boys. Had as newborns there been many? Brandon had always said Ashara was a self-involved short-sighted ignorant girl, too interested in her own looks to really notice anyone around her. He had joked she couldn’t probably tell the difference between his brother Ned and himself. How right he had been. Ashara had fallen hard for the handsome and dashing Brandon, had not cared he only had eyes for Catelyn, his betrothed. She had seduced him and then when he would not desert Cate, she had settled for Ned like he was her only love. Cate would have laughed at the stupidity of the other girl had Brandon not been murdered and she been forced for an alliance to wed the lacking younger brother. Even in his mourning and wishing for vengeance he had cited that he had foolishly wed the Dornish girl, but finally Lord Baratheon, Lord Arryn and her father had talked sense into Ned about the futility of upholding a marriage to an enemy House preformed before false gods. That a ceremony in a Sept before a Septon and real gods would negate his false nuptials to that foolish, vain girl.

     Catelyn took the little pillow from under his head and placed it over his sweet face, applying a slight pressure to restrict the access of oxygen to his mouth and nose. He did not struggle.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia cuddled the babe for some hours, using the power of Last Breath to draw out her time with him.  In his world he was only devoid of breath for long enough for Lady Catelyn to be satisfied he was dead and turn from him.  She knew the nursemaid ‘Wylla’ would be in soon to check on the boy, as she did not trust Lady Stark. When she checked Jon would be breathing normally, and only Anastasia would know she had stolen these moments with him.

     “Life will complain.” Okay, Anastasia and Xan would be the only ones. “She will talk about how it is not right for a babe to be held in and out of life so much.”

     “Then she should speak to Lady Catelyn Tully Stark.  If she stopped trying to kill him, I wouldn’t have these opportunities.” Anastasia defended her time with the baby king.

     “Anastasia maybe this is not healthy, you are growing attached, as if he were your babe.”

     “He has no mother.”

     “He does and you could call her forth to cuddle him in these times, but you do not.” Xan frowned. “You do not want to share him.”

     “What if I don’t?!” She said too loud. “I have nothing why can I not have this?”

     “Because he is not your son. Would it not be better to have your own baby, made from the love you have with your own husband?” Xan asked softly.

     “I do not remember if I have ever loved or been loved.” Anastasia wept silently as she gazed down into little Aegon’s serene face.

     “Anastasia you are greatly loved, and when the pain has abated, you may have the chance to remember it.”

     “Just let me have these times Xan.”

     “Okay Anastasia.” He touched her hand and then he left her to be alone with the baby.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia had many opportunities to spend time holding the king as Lady Catelyn’s dislike of him only ever increased. Wylla was constantly having talks with Lord Stark about her concerns for the boy’s safety with the Lady of Winterfell. Ned would then talk to Catelyn who would say Wylla was too close to the boy and saw things that weren’t there.   More disturbing to Lady Catelyn was Robb’s affection for his half-brother.  Little Robb would be markedly happier when he played with Jon, then when he played with other children from Winterfell. Catelyn was concerned that Robb remembered his twin and that he thought – if babies think – that Jon was his twin. 

     Catelyn had never encountered an infant like the Bastard, for she never called him by his name, always it was ‘The Bastard’ or ‘Bastard’.  He was serene and quiet and seemed if you looked at him to be concentrating on some thought.  His infant forehead was often furrowed, but he was also quick to smile and brighten the day of those around him, even Lady Catelyn, which only made her resent him more.  How could his mere presence make her feel less troubled, when the only trouble in her life was him?

     She did try often to rid herself of him, several times she had used his little pillow to smother him, but she was given so little time, even when she thought the wet-nurse had come too late and the babe was dead, he was always breathing.  Once she ensured Wylla was caught elsewhere and watched as the boy went blue and then purple, thought he was finally deceased only for the next person in the room to find him pink and healthy.

     To endear herself to her mourning husband, she had offered to aid the wet nurse care for the little bastard.  Wylla did not trust her but let Lord Stark have his way, she always watched eagle eyed whenever she shared a room with the Lady and the boy.

 _She is very protective of the boy, excessively for a mere nurse_. Catelyn thought as she started to undress the little boy. It bothered Catelyn that he looked so perfect and **very** Stark.  He had Ned’s grey eyes, whereas Robb’s were blue.  Many noted how the Bastard looked more genuine of a son of House Stark than the Heir to Winterfell. _Is she really his mother?_ Catelyn suddenly looked assessingly at the woman, then at the boy trying to see any resemblance at all. There was none, The Bastard looked like a little Lord Eddard Stark, all the lords of The North commented on it regularly.

     Her husband entered the room to check on his sons as they gurgled at each other, he had been dealing with his stubborn lords all day, few liked Catelyn and only tolerated her presently as Eddard said they should.  Eddard was glad to see Catelyn being kind to his nephew, she was presently stripping his little furs off him to give him a bath and it made him smile.

     “How are you today, Wylla?” He asked the woman who had become Jon’s guardian.

     “Suspicious.” She pointedly stared at Catelyn and her hands on, little Jon.

     “Be kind, Wylla.”

     “Be a better man, Stark.” The nurse’s voice dripped venom.

     “You should treat your lord better, Wylla.” Catelyn reprimanded

     “He is not my Lord.  I am here for … Jon, not him.  Him, I would slice open from navel to nose.”

     “Have you grown no compassion for me?” Ned asked, worried this strange woman would ever be hiding a knife to stab him; to remind him of his promise to Lyanna.

     “I am here to care for the child, not you.” The tone and the look in the woman’s eye told Catelyn that Wylla was not likely to be Jon’s mother.

     Ned however had taken offense and growled low. “We need to talk. Outside for a moment. Wylla.”

     “Whatever the Lord says.” She shrugged, then turned to the lady. “I will be back **shortly**.”

     Shortly was all Catelyn needed.  She striped the remaining cloth from Jon and plopped him in the bath, head first and held his little head under the water, he struggled at first to try to get his head up and find air but he was not stronger than his stepmother and soon the bubbles stopped as did his struggles.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia patted Jon’s little back as he coughed and spluttered the water out of his lungs, he did not cry just pouted at the inconvenience.  Then when she turned him over and he saw her he smiled and gurgled a hello.  Anastasia tickled his little tummy and noted his was not as round as Robb was and his little arms not as meaty.

     “She is even reducing how much food you get.” Anastasia had begun to hate Lady Catelyn a little more every day, as she attempted to kill the adorable baby more often and make his life more traumatic. She watched as Lady Catelyn crossed the room to the crying Robb, she supposed he was supposed to be her excuse for leaving Jon unattended and why he drowned.

     “You know if you let him die, you could keep him.” Xan said as he passed with another soul.

     “I like ruining Lady Catelyn’s day.  Give me a chance at her life and she would be dead in a second.” Anastasia snarled.

 

* * *

 

     “Cate!” Ned returned to the room with Wylla to see Jon unattended in the bath, but he was floating happily.

     “Oh no!” The Lady rushed to see the dead child floating in the bath as she had left him.

     “It seems he can swim, luckily.” Ned smiled at the floating Jon.

     “Luckily.” Wylla narrowed her eyes at the lady.

     “Thank the Seven.” Catelyn said as if relieved. _Why won’t he die!_

     Anastasia giggled at Lady Stark’s lament. “Because I hate you.” She answered the woman.

 

     The servants and commoners of the Castle slowly warmed to the Lady of Winterfell and after some months so did Lord Stark.  He had spent sometime mourning over the news of Ashara Dayne’s demise, he never spoke of his other children, so Catelyn guessed he did not know of their existence and with the bad blood between the Houses of Dayne and Stark it was unlikely anyone would enlighten Ned to their existences either.  Catelyn fell pregnant again just before Robb’s – hers for she had no real idea when he was really born – first nameday. It was on Robb’s big day that Maester Luwin confirmed she was carrying another child.  She sent a raven of the good news to her father and got a very distressing one in return.

 

> Catelyn Tully Stark of Winterfell,
> 
>      Such joyous news! With this addition to your family and House I think of a wisdom that was said to me once: New life brings a time for cleaning out your home.  So, I suggest to you if you birth another son for your Lord Husband you would need clear the House of unneeded ones.  I pray for a son.
> 
> Lord Holster Tully of Riverrun

 

     Catelyn understood, for it had always been her father’s advice to be rid of The Bastard, Jon Snow, but she shivered as she realised after reading it several times he meant she should also eliminate Robb as he was not really hers, except he was really hers now. Everyday she forgot a little more that he was from another litter.  Although she had no opposition to seeing herself rid of The Bastard, she worried her father may have gone further than she knew.  He had told her soon after Ashara’s death that she had no reason to fear Eddard’s first children, Robb was the only one. Had her father had the other two killed?

 

     “You are lucky the Old Gods love you, Snow.” His Bear said as he hauled him out of the pond in the Godswood.  “You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge, or Lady Stark will just keep kicking you into it.”  Jon just stared up and smiled at the large Umber boy. “Yeah, if I kept seeing that pretty Death’s Angel I’d probably let Lady Stark kill me all the time too.” Jon giggled. “You are just incorrigible Jon Snow.” 

     This was not the first or last time Umber came to Jon’s rescue, once Lady Catelyn had picked Jon up as he crawled by her and simply dropped him out a nearby window, the boy plummeted into the stones below, landing on his head and squashing it like a melon, Umber picked him up and set him on his knees so he could crawl away as if nothing happened, Anastasia had actually spent two days cuddling him and kissing his head better, that time she had needed to let his real parents see what Catelyn was up to, and needless to say the Dragon Rhaegar was aflame in less than a second.  Anastasia however had to love Lyanna’s revenge.  For three weeks nothing Catelyn ate or drank was warm, it was all freezing cold as was her bed.  No matter how many furs they piled on her bed she froze, no fire could warm her, Lyanna was immovable about it. Anastasia did not even know how she did it.  The only reason it stopped then, was because Life intervened.

 

     Anastasia had almost taken Lady Stark’s life the night she left the little babe in a blizzard to die, but then little Lord Robb had screamed waking the entire Castle and when his Father entered Robb had said his first word: Jon.  Then the search was on and the babe was found, Lady Catelyn had prayed to her deities that he lived, promised to accept him in her family.  Anastasia kept him alive, but only barely, for he did visit her once that night and gave her the most beautiful bright smile she had ever seen. She noticed his eyes no longer shone blue but had become a silver colour, and wondered when that happened.

     Lady Stark had lied.  Anastasia hoped her deities were angry, because she was.  Who knew for the Lady never seemed to pay for her cruelties, and there were many.  Anastasia knew she should not watch this boy so much, but whenever she had no other duties she went to The North and watched Winterfell.

     After he got better Jon Snow slipped away from people’s tongues as Lord Stark in an effort to fulfil his wife’s promise took the bastard name of Snow away and named the boy Wolf for his House.  Slowly it was forgotten once the boy had been named Jon Snow, for after his near-death he became Jon Wolf – but Lady Catelyn remembered, and strangely so did the boy.


	15. Knight of Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a synopsis of Jon's reunion with Arthur and how it influences his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting more vague I think with these chapters, wanting in myself to get to the Jon/Dany bits where he isn't a kid and her a teen, but background keeps flowing out so I must let the Creative juices flow.
> 
> I should probably explain, I do not do a lot of planning or editing in my writings. So once it is down I only spell and grammar check it, in case it seems disjointed or clumsy.
> 
> Maybe I know why George RR Martin is taking so long with Winds of Winter if he writes like me just higher standard.
> 
>  
> 
> Also my Chapter summaries do really stink at times Sorry.

     It had taken a long time for Sir Arthur to heal and travel to Winterfell, and when he arrived, he was not the Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning everyone would recall.  His voice was lower and had a rasp to it, from the knife of Howland Reed, his hair longer and braided in the northern fashion; and a beard none had seen.  No longer did he wear white plate-mail armour emblazoned with a three headed dragon but now leather emblazoned with a strange symbol unknown in the Seven Kingdoms.  A Dragon on a blue orb with a golden sword.  The famous sword Dawn was wrapped in cloth and slung across his back never to be drawn with a plain one replacing her on his hip.

     Anastasia was gladdened to see him, she had worried for Little Jon or Ryan as Ned Stark had taken to calling him in private. 

     Lord Stark had entered the courtyard like a blizzard when the guard had said a swordsman had arrived and wished to see his nephew, Ryan.  As soon as Ned heard the name he knew it must be Sir Arthur, he did not know how he was so certain of the stranger’s identity but he knew the moment he laid eyes on the stranger that it was The Sword of the Morning come to protect his king.  Perhaps it was a good thing that Arthur had come, Catelyn had not been as lovingly accepting of Jon as Ned had hoped, and strange circumstance had surrounded the little boy since Lady Catelyn’s arrival. 

     Though no one else would recognise the swordsman, Ned did; and it seems somehow so did Jon, for he took to the knight like a favourite toy.  He hugged him for many minutes, though he had only been a few weeks old when they had parted at Starfall.

     **Starfall**. There was still a part of Ned that wished he had not returned north even if it was his duty to.  The reason he had protested taking Arthur there was the reason he did not wish to leave there. Ashara.  She had not begged him to stay, or even to bring her with him, she had said she understood he had to return to his people, he must be Lord of Winterfell. She had only wept when she had to tell him that his son was found dead in the crib, he was lain in.  She had allowed him to spend some time with their remaining children Nicholas, strangely she said named for the Crown Prince and little Ellara, named for her murdered princess, Elia. They brought him joy, for here were the children born of his and Ashara’s love and not the duty of a wife forced upon him in war from alliance and soldiers.  It was strange but little Robb reminded Ned of Nicholas and he figured it was due to them both having his attributes – also strange as Lady Catelyn had said Robb had chestnut hair, in her message informing him of the boy’s birth but the boy did not.  He supposed that was like Jon and his blue eyes that quickly turned silver. He still wished late at night when the wolves howled that he had been able to stay in Starfall. Especially after news of Ashara’s suicide.  But soon Catelyn would be giving him another child, and her aversion to Jon may increase. As much as he would never admit it to the man, he was glad to see Arthur as well.

 

     “Lord Stark.” Arthur was not going to make it easy on Ned Stark the man who broke his sister’s heart. He knew saying Jon was his nephew would raise questions, using the name Ryan had only been to explain who he was due to his differing appearance.

     “Dayne.” Ned replied before he could stop himself.

     “Ned, I have come to seek and watch over my nephew.” He wasn’t entirely lying after all he was also here to watch ‘Robb’, though the name annoyed him.

    “Sir Ankar.” The woman known as Wylla said entering the courtyard with Jon in her arms. Her fire red hair braided in a fashion not seen in the north. “We worried after your injuries from the war that you had gone on to Death’s embrace.” Arthur was a bit surprised the woman had returned to her red hair, hadn’t she chosen mousy brown or such to hide in The North?

     “No fear my lady, I have risen from the flames of my wounds.” He swung out of his saddle and walked briskly to check his little king, who beamed at him and held out his arms to be passed to the knight.

     “As any true phoenix would be.” She smiled.  The people of Winterfell had never seen the nursemaid smile, if she did, she had done it in private with her little charge, usually they received a look that said she did not know why they still breathed.

     “How is our little king?” He spoke low in her ear.

     “Alive no thanks to the Tully. But his parents paid for his life, so Death is loath to take him yet.”

     “Well she will have far fewer chances to harm him now.” He quickly took the little boy and hugged him close to his chest. “Ah little one, Uncle Dayne is here to keep you safe.”

 

     Lady Catelyn was informed of this knight’s arrival, but she was too heavily pregnant to go see him, and rudely he did not seek the Lady of the Castle.  The ‘uncle of the Bastard’ whisper had her itching to see him more, but Ned insisted she look after herself, it was very sweet of her husband. The Lady’s opinion of her husband had changed over her months in Winterfell and especially as he showed her great care and concern during her pregnancy. It made her think maybe Ashara had purposefully chosen the quieter brother after her disgrace. Because as much as Ned was no Brandon, Catelyn had learned in some ways that was better.  She learnt that after the first northern girl brought Eddard a bastard that was sworn to be Brandon’s.  After the third she asked Lord Hornwood if there was something she should know and was told ‘Brandon had the Wolfblood and he was not shy like Eddard, be prepared for more’.  She had thought Brandon was true to her, but it seems he was, only when she was around.  By the time she had birthed her third child, she doubted Ashara had seduced Brandon and was sure it was the other way around.  That realisation was a few years off though.

     The knight was a mystery, to everyone.  No one had heard of the House or name Ankar, and he refused to speak about it to anybody.  As did Ned and the wet-nurse, and it seemed they were the only ones who knew.  The man was tall with dark shoulder length hair braided as normal for these parts.  His sigil was unknown, and he only said it was not his but the House he was sworn to.  He was a brilliant swordsman and never lost a spar.  He had unusual eyes, in that they were purple, but not the harsh bright Targaryen purple, but a soft lavender.  He spoke little and most people guessed that was due to his voice, it hurt to even listen to, and there was a nasty scar on his throat to say it wasn’t natural.  No one doubted his story of being related to the Bastard’s mother, for his devotion to the boy was limitless and it was intense.  It took some weeks, but he explained when he said ‘nephew’ it was because Jon’s mother was like a sister to him, but they had no actual blood relation.  

     Catelyn suggested often to Ned that perhaps this Ankar could take Jon away from Winterfell, but her husband would not budge, Jon stayed.  No matter how many times she asked or what reason she invoked, Ned simply refused to send the boy away.   Whoever this girl was that had birthed the little bastard, had Ned’s absolute love and devotion, he loved her too greatly to be parted from the last piece of her he had.  Catelyn wondered who this woman was, and the three people who knew, did not speak of it, seemingly even to each other.

 

     Anastasia noticed Arthur was true to his word, he stuck to his little king closer than Wylla had even.  Lady Stark had found it near impossible to be given a chance to harm the boy and after awhile she stopped deliberately trying. She had resorted instead to verbally trying to get Ned to send Jon away, but he wouldn’t.  That did not mean Jon was free of her, she still found ways to torture the boy, usually through his half-siblings. 

     Jon was not allowed near baby Sansa under any circumstance and although Ned did not understand, he gave her this strangeness.  Sansa would grow up hearing no good word about her half-brother from her mother and only derision and insult of him.  Arthur kept the boy busy however, both his ‘nephews’.  He taught them how to hold their little wooden swords and Catelyn had screamed for hours after she found Robb holding his.

     “Hush woman, they are only matchsticks.” Were the first words Sir Dayne Ankar ever said to Lady Catelyn.

     Catelyn didn’t like it they were too little; well Robb could be hurt.  When he got his first tap on the head from Jon, Catelyn had hit the roof. Ned spent hours calming her, Robb shed two tears then returned the favour, Jon pouted at Robb then laughed.  That night after the Castle had gone to their furs, Catelyn hauled the tiny Jon out of his bed and into the courtyard, then promptly whipped him for making her son cry.  She also somehow impressed upon the small boy that he was not to tell anyone what happened.

     A new era of terror started for young Jon, the era of beatings and nasty words to haunt his mind. The worst were about his future.

>      “You are nothing. No one will ever love you Jon Snow. No one would ever, no one could ever love such as you. You should never have lived. You are a curse to all.” This became the theme of Jon’s internal thoughts, and although only Catelyn ever spoke them to the boy, he heard them in every voice he had ever heard. And he now thought as she said: A mongrel amongst wolves.

 

     There was one voice that never spoke to him so, Sir Dayne Ankar.  His raspy voice was always positive of Jon and negative of Lady Catelyn’s words and behaviours.  In private he would call him Little King to boost his confidence.  When he was very young, he would giggle at it, as he grew, he learnt it was the meaning of the name Dayne sometimes called him, Ryan. Some days when Lady Catelyn was being especially harsh Dayne would call him Ryan instead of Jon so he would know one person thought he was important. Wylla slipped from his caretaking when he was old enough to run.  Jon wasn’t sure where she went but he knew she trusted Dayne to protect him, so he would be fine.

      Still Jon tended to irritate the Lady constantly. He got used to bearing his siblings’ punishments.  If Sansa broke something, Jon got the whipping, as his little sister grew, she learned she could just point at Jon and he would suffer her wrong doings.  Jon didn’t mind, if Lady Stark was going to beat Sansa as harshly as she did him, he was glad to take the little girl’s strikes. 

     Robb however, it never sat well with him how his mother treated his half-brother.  The young lord also learnt a lesson, if no one else listened, Sir Dayne would always give him the space to tell him what he saw.  So, Robb and Jon grew close to this sworn sword who would stand in front of Jon as Lady Stark tried to accost him. Sir Dayne never backed down even from Lord Stark, there was an expression and a particular glare he would level at the Lord and Eddard Stark would step back.  If the glare didn’t work, he said these simple words: You promised her.

     Mostly Jon got used to his shadow in armour.  Dayne allowed him some breathing space from Lady Stark, and he did not ever treat Jon with derision for his birth status, not something that could be said of many in Winterfell. Soon he gained the moniker The Bastard of Winterfell, like no other one had ever existed.  Some days he would get trash talked or kicked, tripped or spat at; but he never retaliated.  He seethed but did not retaliated, Dayne said revenge would be much sweeter later and he trusted Dayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short I know.  
> I maybe spreading myself too thin, with three stories on the go, but will try not to lose months in one chapter.  
> Be aware though I may write something then have to rearrange chapters if I miss something. So far I have not posted mixed up but I fear it will happen.


	16. Death Number: Oh, Who Can Even Count.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the prompt: Dany is Death and Jon keeps dying?  
> Jon keeps dying, this is only a small death, but Anastasia thinks of her future.  
> Xan doesn't know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short and sweet, maybe some not so sweet illusions.

     The little lords were playing war, war is always dangerous. Robb usually played the brave and heroic Lord Robert Baratheon and Jon seemed to be delegated the role of the evil and diabolical Prince Rhaegar, with their playmates always being Robert’s allies, so the king always waged his war alone.  Usually it only resulted in scratches and bruises, usually to Jon for if Robb even sustained one, Jon copped a beating from the Lady of Winterfell.

     Sir Dayne Ankar ran as he saw his king topple over the edge of the cliff. What he found at the bottom was terrifying.  Jon lay on the ground his neck bent at a severely odd angle to his shoulders and head.  His spine was protruding from a hole in his neck and it was no longer connected, the boy’s eyes were frozen in death.  Ankar kneeled beside his king and wept.

 

* * *

 

     Silver eyes slowly opened to stare into amethyst eyes so beautiful and sad that Jon could not help but smile at the teen girl crouched over him.

     “Hail.” He croaked out to let her know he was alive and well. “Worry not my lady I am alive and well."

     “No, no you are not. You are dead.”

     “Dead? It can not be.  It was only a little fall. Barely a metre.” He looked confused.

     “It was fifty metres and you broke your neck.”

     “Truly? It does not feel so bad.  Are you an Angel? Have you come to take me back?” Anastasia was surprised by his attitude; many would rage and whimper, but Jon seemed calm and ready to travel on.

     “No. I am the Angel of Death and I will send you back to live.” She could not let him die, he was too precious of a life to her. She thought she loved him like her own child, but was unsure as she could not remember love from her own life.

     “Really?  That would be wonderful as I have not finished with my life yet. I have a great deal to do yet before I can leave the world.”

     “Good because you are a dear lad and I think you deserve to live.” Anastasia smiled warmly at him.

     “Though I do regret I could not stay and get to know you better fair lady.” Anastasia blushed at the young lad’s words.  The Guide had been right, this boy did keep her faith in life alive.

     “Well, we will meet again when you come back to stay.”

     “What is your name Angel?”

     “Anastasia.”

     “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

 

* * *

 

     Arthur watched amazed as Jon’s neck straightened and his skin closed. After a few minutes the boy’s eyes opened and he smiled.

     “Death was prettier, but I am glad to see you Sir Ankar.” The boy then stood and dusted himself off and trotted off towards his cousin. “Guess Robb won.”

     Arthur had not understood exactly when Rhaegar had set off to the war to sacrifice his life for Aegon’s, what his friend meant by saying he would die to pay Death for Aegon’s life so he would not die.  He was getting an inkling now. It spoke to him of how important Aegon must be.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia felt warm and fluffy after her visit by Jon. She should probably not call them visits but they were.  The lad had become a stable in her life, or unlife. In her Duty, he was a stable in her Duty.  Previous to him, her duty had dragged on her, made her heavy, but since watching Jon she had felt light and hardly noticed the burden of it, mostly she processed death so she could go back and cuddle up to watch Jon.  She knew it was wrong as Xan had warned, but he was a little boy and she a teen, or young adult, she wasn’t entirely sure anymore. There was nothing inappropriate to their meetings or her watching him, she consciously looked away when he undressed, even though she had seen many bodies in many states, she felt she should keep some boundaries.  Not seeing Jon naked was such a boundary.

     She hoped as he grew and matured, she would be as honourable.  She questioned herself internally about that delineation, but decided it was best not to get ahead of herself she was not a teen, or young woman infatuated with a boy. She would not be! That would be wrong!  Damn Xan for putting that unsavoury thought in her head. Not that he had, she had, but she blamed him anyway.

     “How is lover boy?” Xan appeared next to her. 

 _How does he always catch me at the worst thoughts?_ And they were because wasn’t she just contemplating what she would do when Jon was a teen boy or young man? “He seems fine.” She said off-handedly, trying to sound casual.

     Xan looked at her sideways with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously tell me you weren’t just thinking of that little boy like that.”

     “How dare you insinuate I was predicating on Jon!” She was however, wasn’t she? Or considering doing so in the future.

     “Oh, by Us. You were!”

     “I was not!”

     “Yeah, what were you thinking then?”

     “Whether I would be when he was older.” She folded herself up and had a guilty expression.

     “Dear Death!  Life better not find out or she will go screechy.”

     “Battle said, that he would keep dying if he was Jon, to see me.” Her voice was squeaky even to herself as she tried to defend herself.

     “Battle is a thick-headed, goofy romantic sometimes.”

     “I will desist. You are right, it is wrong; and I have responsibilities and no time for such silliness.” Anastasia straightened her back and gave him a curt nod as if to indicate it was decided and everything was now innocent and professional.

     “Yeah, I don’t believe you.” He shook his head.

     “I mean it!”

     “I believe you believe you, but I will need to blindfold you when Jon reaches puberty.”

     “Hey, I have seen a great number of naked and semi-naked handsome men and boys and I will be fine.”

     “Yeah, I reckon it will be different when it is a boy you love.” He said over his shoulder as he disappeared out of The Black.

     “I love him platonically, like a child, or a sibling.”

     “Eww!” Only his head appeared. “Incest? That is worse.” Then it disappeared again.

     "That is not what I meant.” She said to the air. Then she remembered that dream she had experienced. Was that Jon? As an adult? Oh, he was just yummy.

     “Eww!” Xan’s head popped back in. “That cannot be sanitary!”

     “Get out of my head if you don’t like it.”


	17. No Dignity For Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn strips the Wolf bare and brings him low, can his brother save him?  
> Will Anastasia be able to stay to her duty?  
> Will Jon survive this torture or will he lose his mind to her cruelty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this hard to write because I love the character Jon Snow and I had to hurt him really bad. I wasn't sure if I could do it.  
> Hope it isn't unbearable. Hope I did my idea enough justice.  
> Down the rabbit hole we go.

     There were minimal times Lady Catelyn had true freedom to harm Jon, but she took full opportunity when she was given them.  Usually she only ever got him to the edge of death with her tortures. She hit upon a particular torture she liked, she had a collar made with nasty sharp spikes and then whenever Lord Stark was away and one of the children did anything to upset her, she would drag Jon out to the kennels, whip him until his back bled and chain him in his own designated kennel, she had made for him.  He would stay there chained, whipped daily until news came of Lord Stark or Sir Ankar’s imminent return. The Kennel Master, Farlen, would weep to see the boy curled starving in the back most kennel, but Lady Catelyn was the Lady of Winterfell and she was the law when the Lord was away.

  

     Lord Stark was called to defend Robert's reign as the Ironborn rose in rebellion.  It seems Robert had started a trend, and nobody believed they should bend the knee to the Iron Throne anymore.  Lord Balon Greyjoy had decided he wanted to wear his own crown and sit his own throne.  Robert did not like the questioning of his worthiness or his authority. Arthur had laughed when the raven came to tell Eddard to call his banners and put his armour back on, he was needed to help Robert defend his dominion. Lord Stark had not appreciated Arthur’s laughter, had told him he needed to don his armour too, as it would look strange for him to stay behind to protect Jon.  Arthur had told Ned he would indeed don his armour and leave for the front. Ned had been surprised to say the least, until they got to White Harbour and Arthur boarded a ship for Essos.

     “I didn’t say it was your war front.” Arthur waved Ned goodbye with a smile.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia wept many hours to see the boy curled, bleeding and starving chained by the neck to the cage, but only thrice did he actually come to her, the first two times, he was shivering and unfocused. He took a while to see who held him and at first he flinched so traumatised by his treatment.  He never smiled when he saw her, even when he was close to passing.  His life had become bleak.  He had begun to believe he was the mongrel dog Lady Catelyn told him he was.

 

* * *

              

     Sansa of House Stark, eldest daughter of Winterfell, wanted a lemon cake! She wanted it now! The cook Gage had not taken them out of the oven yet, but that was not good enough for Sansa, she should not have to wait.  She squealed at Gage and told the cook exactly how much this was not acceptable behaviour. She was making such a fuss even the boys came in from the yard.  Robb strode forward to stop his sister’s tantrum and was rewarded with a heavy tankard randomly grabbed to the right eye which unbalanced the heir a moment.  Jon ran forward to grab the next thing she hefted off the bench, a knife before it went hurtling towards Robb as well.  Sansa slapped him and pummelled him with her little fists hard on his chest.

_Fuck Sansa stop acting like such a princess_. He took it knowing it was not worth his hide to actually touch the little fire-headed girl.  She hit him so hard, she winded him, and hard enough to unbalance herself, causing herself to rock back on her feet and land on her privileged little arse. Jon smiled that she had flopped like a common child on the kitchen floor.

     Of course, this is the point when Lady Stark walked in.  Jon smiling over her beet red crying daughter while blood trickled down her son’s head and his eye started to swell.  Little Arya who had been resting in her mother’s arms was quickly deposited into a maid’s arms and Jon was instantly grabbed painfully by the arm.  Her nails dug into his bicep deep and painful. She dragged him behind her out of the kitchen into the courtyard.  She shoved him bodily onto the rough ground outside.

     “You, hateful evil little bastard!” She screamed, earning the attention of every person in the courtyard and balconies above. 

     “I did nothing Lady Stark.” Jon could see danger in her eye, danger for him.  Ankar was away; as was Wylla; his father Lord Stark was still at war quashing the Greyjoy rebellion with King Robert.  Whatever cruelty she had in her soul was unlikely to be curbed by wiser, calmer minds. He was about to suffer greatly.

     “My daughter is screaming on the floor; my son is bleeding and you lie to me about not doing anything!”

     “I did not touch Sansa. I did not hurt Robb I would never harm my brother.” Jon never would, he loved Robb, was going to protect his big brother with his life for the remainder of his days. That may turn out to be until today only.

     “Robb is not your brother!”

     “We share blood!” Jon screamed back, he could not lose the only Stark that showed him any love for Lord Stark rarely did, mostly he was given a guilty look, like he was some mistake.

     “There is none of your dirty, black vile blood in my son, Bastard!” Catelyn pulled her arm back and used all her strength to slap Jon’s face. The boy’s head rocked at the impact and the sound of her flesh hitting his echoed around the courtyard.  The red mark she left went blood red immediately and the blood poured into his cheek and his mouth as his own teeth cut into his cheek and tongue.  The welt was defined so perfectly no other hand could be blamed.  Jon’s eyes went unfocussed at the shock to his brain and he spat out the blood in his mouth, his only comforting thought was her hand must be stinging. “You are nothing but a mongrel child, you are not even worthy to eat in the same building as my children. To sleep in a bed like a real person.”

     Jon knew what that meant, his heart sank. He could not bear this punishment, he must but each time he did, he felt his light waning.  Even the lady in the void did not soothe the memories.  Some days he wished he was made of stone like the Kings of Winter in the crypts; the Old Kings and the true Lady of Winterfell and The North.

     As Lady Catelyn raged on, screaming at him, Jon detached his thoughts from what was going to happen to him, and they floated down the steps of the crypts to the woman interned there.  Lady Lyanna Stark, the only woman to be buried in the Crypts of Winterfell, honoured to be laid alongside the Kings of Winter and Lords of Winterfell, sitting with their stone Direwolves.  Jon had taken to visiting the Lady when the other Lady was raging at him or searching him out.  Catelyn Stark would not descend into the Crypts, the old spectres that resided there did not like her and she could feel it.  Lady Lyanna was serene and although that would be expected of a statue honed of stone, she made Jon serene too.   Jon knew it was an unparallel insult to Lady Lyanna but he thought of her as his maternal figure, who he would choose to be his mother, if he had to choose someone in Winterfell.  He thought maybe he would choose her from everywhere, not just Winterfell. He remembered her kind beautiful face and her hand outstretched as if asking him to take it, at times he had reached up to touch it and hold it as best he could so he could tell her his woes. Always she let him hold her hand and never pulled away , listening with a warm smile as if she loved his tales both good and bad.  Loved that he was strong enough to overcome his woes.  She was proud of him. He wished for a world where she was alive to comfort him, for he was sure her arms would be warm and her touch gentle. Jon loved the stone lady.

     Catelyn dragged him towards the stables, she grabbed a whip used to tame spirited horses and then dragged the boy back into the centre of the courtyard.

     “Mother! No!” Robb came rushing out of the kitchens to defend his brother.

     “Stay back Robb.” She hissed at the Heir to Winterfell.  Jon looked at the hatred in her eye and worried for his brother.

     “Stay back Robb.” Jon spoke quietly, with a pleading in his eyes for Robb not to put himself in danger too.

     Lady Stark tore at the shirt on Jon’s back and the cloth ripped easily, for he was never given the thickest of clothes and he seemed to not feel the cold as much as others. Still, the sudden cold air on his skin caused it to prickle in goose bumps. Lady Catelyn raised the whip above her head and brought in down with all her strength.  Great red long welts appeared on his pale skin, like mountains suddenly forming on flat tundra. She raised her arm again, to bring the hard leather back down upon his tender child skin, the skin on Jon’s back split under the impact and blood oozed down his back, he arched with the pain but did not cry out, his teeth ground together to hold his tongue.  If he let her rage maybe she would blow herself out and not proceed to the next part of the torture and punishment. She raised her hand again and the women of the castle turned away as the boy’s back opened more and the lashes caused flesh to hang in strips as the Lady of Winterfell lashed the boy again and again, he did not cry out but his eyes streamed with the tears of his pain.  Blood spat from his mouth as he bit his tongue from the repeated lashes he sustained, and he had opened and closed his mouth in the extreme pain.  The snow below him was soaked in the blood from his back and now blood dripped from his mouth. 

     “The Blood cannot be spilled without consequence.” Old Nan said from the side of the circle as she held Lord Robb out of his mother’s rage point.

     The whipping continued and soon some of the men were caused to look away from their lady’s cruelty. All the time Lady Catelyn abused the boy verbally as well. Telling him how he was never going to be loved, how tainted his blood was, how he should be thankful for her kindness of freeing him from it. Her lashes caused his blood to splash off his back and into her face and over the bosom of her dress, it did not stop her.  Her attack cut into his shoulder so deeply, the pale pink of bone could be seen through the flesh of his shoulder blade, and a hint of his spine could be seen.

     Robb wept for his brother and looked around the yard for aid but saw there was no one courageous enough to stop his mother, their lady.  Robb felt ashamed of her actions, ashamed of her, ashamed that he was her son. He turned to stare at his little sister, she looked shocked but unrepentant. For a moment he hated Sansa, she was always getting Jon in trouble, she was always misbehaving knowing she would never suffer for her actions, as Jon was the boy who was whipped.  When he saw her take a lemon cake from the tray and smile as she took her first bite, he did hate her.  She cared nothing for the havoc she had created as long as she got her whim.  He wanted a better sister than her, and Arya did not cut it – she was too little.  He wanted the girl he dreamed was his sister, with dark hair and blue-silver eyes, she would be kind to Jon, not like the spoilt little Sansa.

     At the point Jon lapsed from consciousness from the blood loss and shock to his system, the lady dragged him toward the kennels and inside, Farlan met her at the gates with a look pleading her not to do what he knew she was about to. Not in his kennels. She pushed him out of the way and went to the wall to pull down her special collar.  She let Jon drop, he was in no state to run, even if he was conscious.

     Catelyn took the special collar she had sent to Riverrun for, because none of the Goodmen here would create it for her, once they understood what it would be for. She ran her fingers along the thick leather avoiding the long spikes but tentatively tested them for their sharpness. Catelyn smiled as the softest touch caused a drop of blood to form on her finger, it was in perfect condition for the mongrel boy to wear. She grinned down at the unconscious boy she was finished with having this stain in her castle. He did not belong here.  She was thankful Balon Greyjoy had rebelled and gotten Ned out of Winterfell, the boy would not survive and afterward she could say he died of some malaise or accident. 

     “Please milady, don’t do this.” He knew it was not in his power to stop her, he had asked other times and she had ignored him.

     “I understand, Farlan.” She said with anger at the boy in her eyes, and the Kennel Master doubted she truly did understand. “This little mongrel bastard is not worthy to share a kennel with your hounds, but I have nowhere else to chain him.” Farlan had known she did not understand, and he understood why she could not chain him outside the castle; what if someone was to find him and take him and rescue him from her tortures? What if the outsider took this news to the Lord?  No, Lady Catelyn had to perpetrate this atrocity within the walls of Winterfell, where the servants could not betray her.  He watched her attach the collar and tighten it until the spikes dug into the unconscious boy’s neck, causing his neck to match his back with its oozing blood. The boy flinched unconsciously at the pain, he was not awake to react to.  She then attached the chain and dragged him into the last kennel and locked him in. Some of the spikes dug deep into his neck, causing rend in his throat but he was so covered in his own blood, it was impossible to see what blood was new.

     “Milady.” He did not know what to say or ask her.

     “Do not feed him, he dared to strike my children.” She stalked out of the kennels. “Do not let him out!” Catelyn then went back into the kitchen to check on her daughters. 

 

     Jon wept when he woke, he hated this punishment. He whimpered and felt weak for it. It was cold and the frost bit at the slashes on his back. He could barely move, and his shoulder did not seem to work, his back stung like never before.  The cold had made his muscles so stiff he might as well be a corpse in the snow.  The kennel floor below him was sticky and smelt of old blood, he realised it was most likely his.  Even the simple act of breathing caused untenable sharp biting pain to his back.  He felt the cold deep in his bones, like he had never felt it before and his mouth was parched, he tried to croak out a request for water, thinking his voice was raspier than Dayne Ankar’s.  No water came and no food, he could feel the weakness in his body and sighed at the thought Lady Stark may have finally succeeded at killing him. 

     Farlan listened to the boy and wept himself for the freezing, shivering boy.  He was not even allowed to give him a blanket and his torn shirt did nothing to protect him from the frost, his own blood was frozen to his skin and any movement dragged on the collar and ripped more at his neck. Farlan would not treat a hound this cruelly and Jon was a young boy.  The hounds whined at the sound of the boy’s suffering.  The lady had declared that he was not to be given warmth or even water.  Every day the Lady of Winterfell came to beat him more and speak hatred at him. She would come to watch him suffer and smile at his discomfit. Those that did not see her cruelty said it was only fair he be punished for his attack on the Stark children, he was a mongrel child for trying to rid himself of the competition of the trueborn children of Lord Stark.  Farlan listened as Lady Stark whispered to Jon that he was no Direwolf, that he would not and could not be loved by anyone ever and how he would forever be a blight on his father, how his mother was a nothing whore who had seduced his lord father and had not even loved him enough to care where he was, she had discarded him like the filth he was. He did not belong in Winterfell, he never would, he did not belong anywhere.  Little Lord Snow did not weep when his stepmother was there, but he did when he knew her to be gone.  He became a sad little creature as he grew thin with starvation and Farlan guessed he wished for death.

 

     Jon knew he should not believe Lady Catelyn, that she had no more idea who his mother was than he did, but he had nothing to combat her words with and slowly he began to believe them.  If his mother had loved him, she would not have allowed Lord Stark to take him away.  He thought if she was a lowborn girl, she may have not had a choice when the Lord came to take him.  Why had Lord Stark even returned to his mother after the war?  Was he wanting a ‘last taste’ as some of the soldiers said?  Not in front of Sir Ankar though, for they would find themselves in the dirt bleeding for even a sniff of derision of Jon’s mother if Ankar was present.  But even Ankar did not speak of her.

     Jon wondered as he shivered if his mother had loved him, if she missed him or thought of him.  If Lady Stark was right, she did not.  She did not think of him after Lord Stark had lifted him out of her arms.  She did not love him.  How could she? No one would ever love him, no one could love him, he was a bastard, Lord Stark had shown him too much kindness by returning to collect him from his mother.  He may very well have been a waste of breath and life; would he have been left by the wayside to die of exposure if Lord Stark hadn’t collected him? Was that why his father had brought him back to Winterfell, unable to let the bastard die as he should have? Unwilling to let the babe starve to death and die as he currently was at the Lord’s wife’s whim.  _I would have preferred to die like this as a babe when I had no idea of the pain, then now._

     He wished he had died. If no one loved him what was the use of being alive? He could think of very few who loved him.  Not Lord Stark, he had emotion for the boy but he was too reserved, to love Jon; He was only a responsibility.  Not Wylla, he was a duty to her, a child to nurse – she seemed to be angry at the world for him, but he was sure it wasn’t love she felt.  Sir Ankar was closest to loving him, but even he only seemed to protect him as a duty to someone Ankar had once loved.  Robb. Robb was probably the only person who loved him.  Was it enough to only be loved by your brother?  He supposed Uncle Benjen did too, but he was never around. _If I survive, I should go to The Watch, be with Uncle Benjen, Lady Catelyn would never let me stay with Robb._   He had a plan, and it would also free any to-be-born Starks from going to The Wall as one of every generation did. _If I survive_.

 

     Then one morning Farlan came in and the boy was blue from the cold and he was stiff, and the hounds acted as they always did when one had passed in the night.  Little Lord Snow was dead, and the Kennel Master could only sit and weep into his hands for the lad who deserved a better death than that.

 

* * *

 

     Anastasia came forward tears streaming down her cheeks, she could do nothing to aid him while he bled or froze, but here he was with her and now she could comfort him.  His mind was stunned, he was terrified, stuck in the torture his stepmother had visited upon him. Jon trembled and shook, and his eyes darted wildly around The Black. As he panted Anastasia realised, he was not here with her, he was in the terror of his death, although it had been quiet, the torture had been jarring.  She could see it in the torn clothes he wore, and the blood still caked to his wounds and the rends in his flesh.  Very gently Anastasia reached out for him, he jumped at her touch and cried in terror his soul only recalling his beatings.

     He shook in a corner, hugging himself and would flinch if she approached, eyes wide with terror.  She dared not call his parents for what would it help them to see him in such a state, they could comfort him no more than she could.  She wanted to scream to the Universe to take this vile woman and make it painful and terrifying.  Wanted to put a vision of peace into Jon’s mind so he might calm, but as she tried, she met a mind closed to the world.  All she felt from him was pain and terror and she found herself drowning in his mind.  In the end all she could do was watch him and stay close so he might realise he was not in danger and was not alone.

     Eventually Anastasia’s worry turned to rage.

  

* * *

 

     Lord Robb walked into the Kennels and cleared his throat. “Kennel Master.” Usually he would just use the man’s name, but he was here in an official capacity.

     “Lord Robb.” The man jumped at the boy’s voice. Robb had caught him staring into the barred cage.  His face white with worry.

     “I would have you open the last cage and release Wolf.” Robb used all the authority he could muster.

     “I fear you may be too late, my lord.”

     “Open the cage.” Robb prayed to the Old Gods silently that he was in time and the Kennel Master was wrong.

     Goodman Farlan took keys from his belt and unlocked the outer gate. With a fortifying breath in he opened the gate and walked into the kennels, the hounds rushed to him, thinking either it was mealtime or time for a hunt.  He pushed them back as Lord Robb entered behind him, following him closely. They walked to the last cage was a short one, but it felt to take an eternity.

  

* * *

 

     Xan had always been impartial. Had never taken sides.  He watched Anastasia. He watched Jon Snow. He watched Lady Catelyn.  He would have gone to Death, asked him for this woman’s life as Anastasia had asked the Universe, but Death was beyond his reach right now.  Xan did not love life, either the Goddess or the event.  Xan had no love of those petty things that were born, existed then faded.  Xan would happily have crushed it all underfoot. Death however loved life - not the Goddess, the event - so Xan endured it. Over time he had grown to like, maybe even love some people. Battle, Death’s Beloved, and some few others over the eons, he liked the Dragon Rhaegar and his Direwolf Bride. He liked Dayne and tolerated Kasmira.  He liked Rhyszard, Nicholas and Ellara.

     He hated Lady Catelyn, her family and Sansa.  He hated the Baratheons and Lannisters, the Tullys and Arrryns. Just about everyone in the world he hated.  He hated Viserys, because Xan knew what he would do to Daenerys in the future.  He hated Khal Drogo for the same reason, and because the enemy had stolen an ally’s face for the savage. He hated everyone in Essos that would harm Daenerys.  He asked himself again what he should do? He could just kill everyone but then Anastasia would be over run and she was too focussed on a little boy right now.  Xan could not amp up her duty and deprive her of helping him. 

     Xan decided to fulfil a prayer. Anastasia’s prayer.  The Seven would not smile on Lady Catelyn for her betrayal of her promise to them.  She had promised to accept Jon, if he would just live.  She had lied and now the Gods would punish her.  Xan had an old acquaintance to see, the only one of the Seven that actually existed anymore, The Stranger.  If Death could not help, then maybe his closest lieutenant could.  The Stranger would help because it was for Anastasia and The Stranger loved her almost as much as he loved Death.

 

     Anastasia was so enraged she was crying. This was the third time she had seen him after this torture and it was getting hard for even her to bare, the boy wasn’t even eight yet.

     “Angel, why do you weep so?” The dark boy asked as he smiled at her. He should be shaking still, terrified as he had when he entered, but the girl was weeping, and he wished to stop her tears.

     “Your stepmother…”

     “Lady Catelyn is as she is.”

     “She killed you.” She spun to glare at the boy.

     “If I measure it properly by how often I have been blessed with the visage of your beautiful face, I would say it is not a new or rare thing.” His voice was calm.

     “Don’t you hate her?” Anastasia did and she was not the one Lady Catelyn constantly murdered or left to die or … so many things.

     “For sending me to see you. No.” He found his words to be true.  He was not angry or hateful of Lady Stark for sending him here.  He guessed it was a boyhood crush, to wish to see this beautiful girl and have time with her. “I might wish a less terrifying and slow demise though.”

     “I hate her.” Anastasia declared.

     “Do you not like seeing me?” He sounded hurt by the thought.

     “I enjoy seeing you very much, I do not like that you have to die for me to see you.” Technically he didn’t, she watched him all the time, but to converse with him, that needed him to die and as much as she loved to see him, she hated how it must occur.

     “I feel I would die many times if I got to continue to see you.  You are very beautiful, and I do not get to see true beauty, as most beauty I see is marred somehow.” He smiled at Anastasia. “I do however need to return to my life, I have much to do.”

     “She will just hurt you again, tell you terrible things.”

     “Angel. Anastasia, do you think you would be my friend?” He asked shyly.

     “Of course.” She wished she truly could be his friend, to live on the same plane as him.

     “Do you think if you were a real girl, you might love me as a friend?” He looked away so she could not see how desperately he needed her to answer yes.

     “If I was alive, I have no doubt I would not find something in you to love.  I have seen you to be a good lad and that you have a good heart.”

     “Then send me back, so I can show you how good I can be.” He smiled, who cared if Lady Catelyn hated him, Anastasia would be his friend if she were a living girl.

     “Be careful Jon Snow.” She kissed his head as she watched him return to his frozen, skinny little body.

 

* * *

 

     Robb placed a hand on Jon’s brow, he was icy cold and Farlan may be right he was too late. He heard a weak wheeze, and he rejoiced.  Jon was alive, barely, but he was alive.

     “Kennel Master, remove that collar and get a blanket for my brother, we are taking him to Old Nan.”

     “Lord Robb, your mother said…”

     “I am the Heir to Winterfell, I will be its Lord, carry my brother to Old Nan!” Farlan did as commanded with relish.  The Kennel Master was surprised the lad was still with the living, he knew he may not be when Lady Catelyn found out he had helped Lord Robb save the boy.

 

     Old Nan tsked at the state of the bastard boy and sent Robb and Farlan out of the room almost immediately.  She stoked the fire and wrapped warm furs around him, but when after an hour he had not warmed she decided it was time for drastic measures.  She closed all the shutters and locked the door, then she took every piece of firewood and threw it on the fire.

     “Now, boy you are too cold, and I must warm you quickly, so I must do something that may seem crazy.”  She took the blanket off him and stripped him down to his small clothes. “If you are watching Bloodraven, I may be here for your task of helping Brandon Stark, but my purpose is to help Aegon Targaryen, one better than all the Aegon’s that came before him.  Our father did not deserve to share a name with this boy.  Or mayhaps this lad should have been named Aemon after the Dragonknight.  For his nature is far more like Uncle’s than Father’s.”  With that she hefted the boy from the bed and threw him into the flames of the fire. “Fire cannot kill a Dragon.”

     Old Nan stayed secluded in her rooms for a couple of hours. She allowed no visitors and would not open her doors, and everyone could see the smoke billowing out of the cracks of her hut.  Finally, she opened her door and called for little Lord Robb.  Robb came running, and Lady Catelyn was steps behind him, but Old Nan simply slammed the door in her face after Robb ducked under her arm.  Lady Catelyn banged on the door and demanded entrance, to be given a muffled ‘No’ through the closed and again locked door.  No one would bash down Old Nan’s door for their lady, not Old Nan’s door.

     “Wolf.” Robb looked concerned at his brother lying on the cot, glad to see although still emaciated, Jon was no longer blue with cold, he looked a warm pink colour. Robb received a weak smile in response. He turned to the old woman. “Thank you, Old Nan.”

     “Oh, he just needed a good cooking.” She grinned at the little lord.

     “I am so sorry Jon.  My mother gives no dignity for wolves.”

 

     Lord Robb came every day to help Old Nan nurse his brother, he brought food and any medical supplies Old Nan needed. Soon other than a few red marks, Jon bore no proof of Lady Catelyn’s tortures and she was given no chance to repeat them. The first day Old Nan let Jon out and Catelyn got to come face to face with him, Sir Ankar rode into the courtyard behind the boy and dismounted his horse just as she got into striking distance.

     “Lady Catelyn, I have returned, and Lord Stark is but one day behind me.”  He did not understand the true measure of Jon’s relieved expression and Robb’s vibrant smile.

 

* * *

 

     To Anastasia’s relief Lord Stark did return the next day, and with his return came a time of peace for Jon. Lady Catelyn no longer had opportunity to physically endanger Jon, as Sir Ankar never left his side and Lord Stark was never away for long enough to harm the boy without him finding the scars.  Catelyn may still torture his mind with her vile words and her treatment of him, but he had some years in which he did not visit Anastasia and she got to see him grow. Healthy even if not always happy.


	18. The Light at the End of the Tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another death for Jon Snow or is it Ryan Wolf now, there is something strange about this life but Anastasia cannot work out what exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene does not fit into canon of Show or books but egotistically I am the author so I can just do it.  
> Very Short Chapter.

     She watched amazed as he raced forward, determination on his face and his silver eyes dark with anger.  How did he expect to survive a full-frontal assault against an army of thousands? Especially as he was the only one on his side of the battle.  Maybe he was so used to these odds from his childhood that they did not seem extreme to him. Maybe he thought that ejection pack would save him at the last minute.  She held little hope that the device would be able to save him, that hope died completely as he ripped it off his back and placed it on the back of the child and activated it.

     “Your family have missed you very much and are going to be so happy to see you.” Ryan said in a calm voice as he smiled at the target.  He knew he would not live through this, but the princess would, and her mother would be relieved. “Safe travels Princess Myrcella.” The ejection pack wrapped a cocoon around the princess and shot her into the air before she could even answer him or thank him.

     “You know you are gonna die for that Northman.” A large scarred warrior snarled down at the man on his knees.

     “You first.” Ryan shrugged as he smiled up at the warrior looming over him. He thrust a wicked dagger into the man’s gut as he came to his feet. Anastasia took the warrior and sent him spinning down the tunnel without even a glance, let The Guide deal with him, Jon was in danger.

     They came as an unrelenting wave and Ryan sent many of them to Anastasia’s embrace, she had to admire his talent for dealing death, but there were thousands and he was one. She watched the sword cut into his abdomen and a hilt slam into his temple, another drove a blade through his knee. She watched as he smiled and pulled a small spherical device from his pocket and rubbed his thumb over its surface and it began to glow.

     “Sweet death take us all!” He said as the inferno exploded from the small bomb and hundreds of his opponents went up in flames with him.

 

* * *

 

     “Sweet Death Angel we meet again.” He smiled at her as the bodies of his enemies flew past him down the tunnel. He couldn’t see her in truth, his eyes had been burned away.  Slowly vision – and he guessed his eyes – returned to him and he saw darkness all around him and in the distance a light, a bright shining light. As he walked towards it the light at the end of the tunnel took the form of a person, and as he came close enough to look upon its face, he saw irritation.

     “Was that really necessary?” Her voice was as melodious as he remembered but she was definitely displeased with him. It had been years, sometimes it felt like a lifetime or two since he had seen her, and he had not realised until this moment how much he had missed her beautiful face.

     “How else could I return to see you again?” He smiled and his voice was light with amusement.

     “You are not supposed to return to see me. “

     “But fair lady I have missed your warmth of spirit.” He had not truly sacrificed himself to see the Angel again, but it was still a bonus outcome.  He wasn’t truthfully sure she had not been a dream from his childhood, someone a lonely scared unloved little boy had created because he wanted a mother.  He was a teen now and he realised as he gazed at her pale beauty, he was not seeing a mother figure. Well, if he was, he would have had a very disturbing relationship with his mother.  You are allowed to think your mother is beautiful, but he was sure you were not supposed to think your mother was exquisite and wish you could have a few private hours with her and a bed. He shook his head to get the thought out of his head.

     “Why?” She asked exasperated.

     “Why have I missed you?” Now he had seen her he had different answers to that question.

     “Why did you get yourself killed?”

     “To save the princess.  They would have killed her as soon as they realised the cavalry was on its way.” He was correct of course; Anastasia had heard the whispered plans.

     “Her father would not save you.”

     “Her father is a pig and a terrible king.” Jon said with a tinge of disgust at the man many bowed to as king, he had only had to do it once and was glad that was over with forever.

     “Her mother is a cold-hearted woman.”

     “Her mother, the Queen is as you say but she loves her children and my sacrifice may change her heart to think a Northman would sacrifice himself for her daughter.  It may save many of my fellow Northmen. I died because the princess is a sweet and innocent girl who brings life to her mother’s heart, and that life could save many other lives.  Death makes it possible for Life to thrive.”

     “Now however you have no life.” She may understand his sacrifice, but she did not like it.  He was still the same boy he had always been, far too ready to die to save another, not caring for how important his life was to others.  Mainly her, but she still counted.

     “But many others will. My men will subdue the army after the losses I inflicted on them and with the return of the Princess peace will come, slowly but peace will come.  If the princess had died, so many other lives would be lost as vengeance bounced back and forth between the factions.”

     “You think that your life is of less value than another’s.” This thought gave her pain because as she had watched this now man grow; she had grown to care for his life and wished for him to live. His life was worth far more to her than any other life she had seen.

     “No one is more important than anyone else. I am no more important than a street urchin in Flea Bottom; King Robert is no more important than a slave in Meereen.  Every soul is worth exactly the same as every other soul. And how bad can it be to spend a few centuries talking to you?” He smiled again.  In his life Ryan rarely smiled, he carried the derogatory words of Lady Catelyn with him everywhere, deep in his psyche.  He also remembered the name had to lose for Lady Catelyn’s ego, he wondered if he would ever be Jon Snow again, though he could have happily never heard Snow again he missed Jon, the name he was told his mother gave him.   

     Anastasia liked his smile, it shone brighter than the sun to her, warming her cold existence. He had to go back, she could not keep him, for if she did, she would lose him.  He would travel on and she may never see him again, and she could no longer live or not live, she could not exist without him.  He must go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At present this chapter is finished but I may add start of the next chapter I started writing, if I find it belongs here instead.


End file.
